Raphael's POV
I hadn't planned on telling my father anything. The weight of my diagnosis was mine to bear, just like everything else in my life. But the whole thing with Susan had blown out of proportion.
The call had come just before sundown - while I was still processing the chaos Susan had left in her wake. It'd been six hours and she still hadn't been found.
My father's number lighting up my phone was unusual enough to give me pause.
"Your mother says you got married yesterday." he'd gone straight to the point.
"How did she…"
"The courthouse clerk's daughter works at her favorite salon." Of course. Nothing stayed secret in this family for long. "Come to the house. Now."
An hour later, I found myself in his study. My father watched me from behind his desk, waiting. I was surprised with the next thing that came out of his mouth.
"She hit you with a vase?" then he burst out laughing, catching me off guard. Paulo Marino, the former head of the family, rarely laughed. Unless apparently, his son was being made a fool by a girl.
"Thank you, Father. Your concern is touching."
"Oh, I'm concerned alright," he wiped tears from his eyes, settling deeper into his leather armchair. "Concerned that my son, who orchestrated the takeover of three territories without spilling a drop of blood, got taken down by his new bride during breakfast."
I gritted my teeth.
He reached for his scotch, eyes twinkling with mirth. "Tell me more about this girl who had the courage to assault you. What was her name again?"
"Susan Thompson."
"Thompson…"
I watched as recognition dawned in his eyes.
"Robert Thompson's daughter? The factory driver?"
"Yes."
"The same girl who used to bring cookies to the workers during Christmas?" His eyes narrowed. "The one who organized that fundraiser for Mario's sick daughter last year?"
I shifted uncomfortably. I hadn't known about the cookies. Or the fundraiser. There was so much I didn't know about her.
"And you married her?" My father's voice became dangerous. "Without consulting the family?"
"It was… impromptu."
"Impromptu?" He set down his glass with deliberate care. "Since when does Raphael Marino, do anything impromptu?"
The weight of everything I'd been carrying - the diagnosis, the ticking clock I couldn't stop - suddenly felt crushing. I stood, walking to the window where my mother's roses bloomed.
"I needed…" The words stuck in my throat. How could I explain that for once in my life, I'd acted out of desperation rather than calculation? That the sight of Susan, fierce and beautiful and so alive, had made me forget my mantra against marriage.
"You needed what?" My father's voice cut through my thoughts. "To rush into marriage with a girl who clearly had no idea what she was getting into? That's not like you, figlio mio."
"I needed it done." the words came out harsher than I intended.
"Why now?" He stood, coming to join me at the window. "What's really going on, Raphael? Did I pressure you too hard about getting married?"
I kept my eyes fixed on the roses. "Some things are better left unsaid."
"Not between father and son." His hand landed on my shoulder, filled with authority and concern. "Not in this family."
The irony of those words wasn't lost on me. How many secrets had we kept from each other over the years, all in the name of protection?
My father's study suddenly felt too small for the words I needed to say. I moved back to his desk, picking up the crystal tumbler he'd left there. I poured a portion into the glass and downed it all, welcoming the heat.
"Six months ago, I started getting headaches. Bad ones. I ignored them at first."
My father remained silent by the window.
"Then came the dizzy spells. The memory lapses. Small things at first. Names. Dates. Nothing crucial until…"
"Until?"
"Until I forgot Vincent's daughter's name during negotiations." I set the glass down with more force than necessary. "Right in the middle of a meeting. Their entire family was there, and I couldn't remember the girl I'd known since she was in diapers."
My father's intake of breath was sharp. In our world, such a lapse wasn't just embarrassing - it was dangerous.
"I saw a specialist. Then another. And another. They found a tumor. Here." I touched the left side of my head, where the headaches always started. "Benign, but in a location that makes it complicated."
"Complicated how?"
"The traditional surgical approaches are too risky. But there's a new treatment. It could work, but…" I let out a bitter laugh. "There's always a but, isn't there?"
"What aren't you telling me?"
"The treatment will likely leave me sterile. And the longer we wait, the more damage the tumor does. The doctors gave me a year, maybe less, before the symptoms become too severe to manage. After that..."
"After that, the treatment becomes mandatory, fertility be damned," my father finished, understanding dawning in his eyes.
"Exactly. So you see, Father, I needed an heir. Someone to carry on the family name, to protect what we've built. And there she was, at the bar, talking about wanting to get married..."
"And drunk enough not to ask too many questions," my father's voice held no judgment this time, just understanding.
"I didn't plan it. For once in my life, I didn't have a strategy. I just... saw an opportunity and took it."
"Like a true Marino." His voice was filled with sympathy.
"What would you have done?" I asked quietly. "If you knew you had to choose between having children and having your health? Between the family's future and your own?"
He crossed the room in three strides and grabbed my shoulders, his grip firm.
"I would have trusted my partner. I would have given her the dignity of choice. Your mother chose this life - chose me - knowing exactly what she was walking into. And she's been my strength every day since."
"I don't have time for..."
"You don't have time NOT to do this right!" His voice rose. "You think trapping this girl in a marriage, possibly with a child, Is going to make any of this easier? There are doctors in Switzerland, in Germany, looking into new surgical techniques every day. You have options, figlio mio. But first, you need to fix this."
He was right, of course. In my rush to solve one problem, I'd created a dozen more.
He walked to the bar to refill his glass. "You know, your mother hit me with a plant pot when I told her about the family."
This was news to me. "She did?"
"Oh yes. Knocked me right out. But you know what I did next?" He turned, fixing me with a stern look. "I apologized. I explained everything. I gave her a choice."
I couldn't help envisioning the scenario. Seems like Susan and my mother might have something in common after all.
"Find the girl. Talk to her - properly this time. And for God's sake, stop sending your men to terrorize her. She's already proven she's not afraid to use household items as weapons."
"And if she still wants nothing to do with me?"
"Then you deal with it like a Marino - with honor." He picked up his phone. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to call your mother. She's going to love this story."
"Father..."
"Go home, Raphael. Go sort this thing out."
As I left my father's study, I could hear him on the phone: "Bella, amore mio, wait until you hear what our son's new wife did..."
Great. By tomorrow, every member of the extended family will know about the vase incident. I'd never live this down.