Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
“Yes,” I tell him. “She has no reason to lie about that.”
“True,” Luca replies. “Unless she’s working with somebody else. Maybe she left you that note at the restaurant because somebody—maybe even Russel—told her to. Or maybe there’s no loan shark. Maybe the Irish or the… Bro? Elio?”
I don’t even realize I’ve stood up until my little brother leans back, staring at me. The fear on his face is so rare it makes him look like a little boy again. He’s looking at me like he thinks I will hit him.
I sit down, shaking my head, trying to calm myself down. “She’s not working for anybody. She’s a good person.”
“Okay, man. Shit. I was just saying…”
“Don’t just say. You’ll see she’s telling the truth when we catch this loan shark bastard.”
“So you do think Mom’s been pretending Dad’s been talking all these months?”
I swallow. “I don’t know. If she has, something bad is happening. She wouldn’t do that willingly. You know what Mom and Dad are like. Other dons have their side women. Other dons have their trophy wives. Mom and Dad are the real thing.”
“No question there,” Luca agrees. “What now?”
“Now, I catch up on some work. We’ve got the sting tomorrow, but there’s still the day-to-day business. I’ve got reports to file. Figures to check. You know, the fun stuff.”
“I’ll help,” Luca says.
I tilt my head at him. “Really?”
“I said I would, didn’t I?” he snaps. “I want to be useful.”
I reach across the table, clapping him on the arm. “Thanks, Luca. Let’s get to it.”
CHAPTER 19
Scarlet
Mom is sleeping right now, I type, awkwardly holding my phone in one hand since my other is wrapped around Mom. She’s on her side, trapping it, and I don’t have the heart to move her. So do what you need to do.
I have to keep the Family running, he replies. But trust me, I’d much rather be there with you. How are you feeling?
Between hearing about what happened to Dad and then learning he wasn’t actually my dad, my head’s spinning, honestly.
Wait, what? he texts. He wasn’t your dad?
Mom told me before she fell asleep. I think she wanted to do it while she was still high, so she didn’t chicken out. Apparently, my real dad passed away when I was little. I always wondered why he didn’t seem to want me. Now I know.
I’m sorry, angel, he sends. You deserve better than that. Birth father or not, if he committed to be a dad to you, he should’ve fulfilled that role. If a man’s lucky enough to have kids, he should do right by them.
Maybe I was a terror as a child, hmm? Did you consider that? Perhaps he had a reason to hate me.
Dark humor might not be the healthiest coping mechanism, but it’s better than lying here thinking of all the ugly moments with Dad—Philip—and all the sour looks and resentment.
Number one: I can’t imagine you being a terror. Number two: Even if you were, it’s a dad’s job to help the child improve. Not to judge. Not to resent. Not to hate. When we have kids, we’re going to do better.
I gasp, then bite down, not wanting to wake Mom. I have to reread the last statement to make sure I’ve understood him.
When WE have kids?! I text, excitement bubbling up inside of me.
When you have kids… When I have kids… We’ll try to be better than that, won’t we?
I swallow, warning myself to relax. Of course, he didn’t mean when he and I have children together. He was speaking in general terms, but that doesn’t mean my dreams will stop flying, multiplying, and bursting into the future. It doesn’t mean I’m going to forget about that vision I had—my man and me, surrounded by warmth and happiness.
When I reply, I find myself thinking of ways not to prove that I’d be a good mother—not convince him or advertise myself, but something pretty darn close. As I write out the message, I feel like I’m applying for the best job in the world.
When I’m lucky enough to have children, I type, I will do everything differently than my parents. I don’t want to criticize Mom and Dad. Well, I don’t know how to talk or think about him. I know I will be there for my children, supporting them, letting them grow, and discovering their passions. I’m never going to put the responsibility on them. Don’t get me wrong, Elio. I’m going to do my best to challenge them. If you ever had children, how many do you want?
My hand is aching from typing out this message one-handed. There’s also a pit in my stomach, an ache that tells me he will see through my message. He’s going to realize I’m talking about us. I’m trying to convince him for us, and then he will outright laugh at me.