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Enzo: Michael?
I look down at my phone, my mind narrowing down to one truth. Until Rose, I never gave a woman a second thought. And now she’s all I think about.
Michael: I love her. I think I have since the moment I saw her that night in the club.
I didn’t mean to type that, but for whatever reason, I want him to know. Maybe somehow Rose will hear it.
Enzo: ?? I think you should lead with that when you come home.
Michael: I’ll be home soon.
Dad is in his office nursing a scotch. Alone, in the dark. Something he often does on the nights when storms roll in over the bay, enjoying the show as Mother Nature intended. One of my fondest memories as a child included sitting on his knee, watching the storms roll in with him. He would say it’s nice to be reminded that as powerful as you may think you are, there are elements far more powerful that cannot be controlled by anyone.
“Father.”
“Michael. Come in.”
I step in and close the door behind me, knowing this conversation needs to be private. Fixing myself a drink, I take a long sip before sitting on the bay window and facing my dad.
From this angle and dim light, his age shows on his face, and my chest tightens at the sight as the reality of the situation bears down on my shoulders. Dad should be retired by now, enjoying his remaining years relaxing with Alice in the Italian countryside.
“Is Rose feeling better? I saw Enzo leave with her.”
Before running after Rose, I made up the excuse that she wasn’t feeling well. I drown the rest of my drink, savoring the burn down my throat. “She’s fine, but I need to talk to you about Rose.”
“What is it, son?” He sounds exhausted, and I hate how I’m about to add to it.
“Rose is not who she says she is.”
“What?” Dad rests his glass on his knee and gives me his full attention. “Who is she ?”
There’s no turning back now.
“Her name is Rosaleen O’Leary. She’s Patrick O’Leary’s missing daughter.”
Dad stares at me, his mouth falling slightly open from the shock. “Holy shit,” he finally breathes out. “Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“When did you find this out?”
“Tonight. She recognized you. That’s why she took off. You’re her—”
“Godfather,” Dad finishes. “Yes. I am. How did I not recognize her?”
I shrug, unable to give him that answer.
Dad finishes his drink in one giant swallow before he blows out a heavy sigh. “I suppose it has been a while since I saw her last. God, it has to have been over ten years now. If I remember correctly, it was at her mother’s funeral, and the poor girl was so quiet and sad. Not at all like the girl she was before the accident.”
I stand and hold my hand out for his glass, offering to refill it. He hands it over, and I cross the room to the bar cart. Pouring a fresh scotch, I continue revealing more secrets. “She said it was her father who sold her into the sex trafficking ring.”
“What?” Dad swings around. “Patrick sold his youngest daughter?”
I nod. “Her dad found her in Italy and claimed she was sullied goods now, so he sold her.”
Dad places his hands on his desk, leans forward, and hangs his head. “Yes. From what I know of the contract, Igor was paying a hefty amount to marry a virgin.” He looks up, seizing me with a glare. “Did you take care of that, too?”
I chuckle humorlessly and shake my head, handing him his refilled glass. “No. Not that I’m aware of, at least.”
