I’m expecting something big and extremely Italian. I also found out a lot of things that he and I have in common when it comes to our childhoods. We’re both from privileged families and grew up on an estate. The only difference is our environments, which were extremely different, and the morals that structured the dynamics vastly opposed
His family also hates what my whole life was based on:organized crime. He’s happened to mention it almost a gazillion times. I can feel his hatred from here and it still sends a chill down my spine. It’s not like I didn’t know about his whole vendetta on the subject. But hearing him talk about it is different from Xavier explaining the topic to me.
His mom is the standard setter of the family because he never had a father. His mother married rich, and his dad died at the hands of the mafia.
Yay me! I’m at the center of his family’s pain. Cue dramatic cry.
He told me that she’s basically the head of the household and was both the female and male example in his life. He was supposed to take over his family’s business, which is a part of many endeavors, the main one being the primary source of wine all over Italy. But he always knew he wanted to be an F1 driver—another thing we have in common.
His younger brother, Bernard, took over the family business when he was eighteen. Now he’s thirty years old with a horrid wife—words of Mr. Donatello—and three children that Luca adores. It was cool to see him talk about children so fondly. I would never have seen him as the type. I have little cousins, but no nieces or nephews, thank God. It’s not that I hate children, but most of the time they ruin everything. They’re cool and stuff, but I don’t have the time or energy for them.
Especially the childhood that I went through. I don’t want my children to experience anything like it. I’ve never been fond of the possibility, but it’s not something that I’ll completely write off.
Brain, why are you thinking about children? No.
That part of my life isn’t completely closed off because León wants to breed an entire population. I asked him once how many children he wanted, and he said ten. May God bless him and his offspring, as well as his sanity.
My father has many children from many different women. I was his only legitimate child. He asked me if I wanted to take over once. I gave him a scathing look, and he got the message loud and clear. He chose León as his successor because he was the result of his favorite mistress. Having hundreds of siblings that you don’t know about is quite thrilling in a way. Sometimes, when random women with children passed by us when I would occasionally go outside the house, I would observe and see if they looked like my dad in any way. Most of the time, my brain would say “yes”. I love my father, but he’s a man whore.
“Here it is,” Mr. Donatello announces once we reach a grand gate that has the initial D in a circle in the middle of the gate. Looking ahead, a dirt road is seen, and trees line up to what I assume is the main entrance. I can’t see it from here because the entry road is long.
“That gate says a lot. In Sinaloa, we have a gate but would never put an initial or family emblem on it. A little egotistical, don’t you think?” He scoffs at me.
“It shows how much pride we have in our family. If you think that’s egotistical, just wait till you meet them.” He didn’t have to tell me that; I’d already assumed it. I mean, Mr. Donatello couldn’t have become the way he is on his own.
Driving up the road, we make a left that leads to a massive doorway. The doorway has the same circle that was on the gate in the center. But there is no “D” on it this time; instead it’s a vine with grapes. I assume it symbolizes their wine empire. Jumping out of the car, I go to grab my stuff from the back so we can make our way inside. But before I can even reach for my luggage, he stops me with his hand.
“There is no need for that. Umberto will grab them and take them up to our rooms.”
“Umberto?” I question him.
“The butler, he’s family.”
“I’m rich, but not that rich.”
“Europeans do it differently.” He winks. Disgusting.
Stop lying to yourself. You got butterflies, pendeja.
Walking over to the door, he opens it swiftly, holding it out so I can walk through. Inside, I’m met with a grand entrance. It’s not huge, but the room is shaped into a circle with a white table in the middle. On top is a statue of a woman with her head tilted to the side as she wraps her arms over her chest. It’s not a full-body one, only from the middle of her stomach up, but you can tell it’s good quality. The inside of the house is white marble, which contrasts with the classic Italian brick on the outside.
“Luca!” I hear a feminine voice shout in excitement from the doorway.
“Mamma,” he responds.
An ultra-feminine, refined brunette woman walks through the door. Her hair is a mix of chocolatey brown and gray strands, running down in parts. She’s on the older side, but not old enough to be his mom?
She looks clean, she could be a part of an anti-aging Neutrogena commercial.
“Ragazzo mio come sei stato,”she says, her whole body dripping in adoration.
“Bene, solo lavoro,”he responds with his usual stoic facade. This man can’t even show his mother a little bit of affection.Red flag.
Realizing there’s someone else in the room, she looks over at me.
“Mamma, this is Alejandra. She’s a driver for the team,” he introduces me.
“Hi. It’s nice to meet you, your house is beautiful.” I reach my hand out to shake, and she takes it.