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Nothing was good enough for my father.
At first, she tried everything to get his approval. She threw parties, hid criminal evidence, and convinced women to blow their husband’s money at the casino. When it didn’t work, she became bitter and selfish. He also expressed his unhappiness with her for failing to birth a third child—a daughter—for him. Out of spite, he impregnated one of his mistresses, only to birth another boy.
I’ll never forget the day my mother found out because the doctor’s nurse called the wrong number to confirm the OB-GYN appointment. In a fit of rage, she burned all his suits and the valuable artwork inherited from his grandfather. My father kicked her out of the house for a week in retaliation, forcing her to sleep at my aunt’s.
Sometimes I feel sorry for her. But then I remember she’s also a shitty person. She never stepped in during my father’s violenttrainingsessions. Instead, she spent her time vacationing, shopping, and brunching.
I’ve now accepted who they are. That doesn’t mean I allow Amara to be around them without me though.
“I’m a busy man,” Vinny grumbles as we sit.
The crystal chandelier above us illuminates the dining room table, which is large enough to sit twenty-four, yet only five places are set. The Lombardi operation is immense, but our immediate family isn’t.
I hear the sound of my father’s cane hitting the floor before I see him. He’s been using the cane more since his stroke.
“My Amara, the sweetest granddaughter in the world,” he says as soon as he sees her. He doesn’t greet anyone else.
Amara slides off her chair and runs toward him. “Nonno!”
He props his cane against the table to pull her into a tight hug. “I missed you, sweetheart.”
She bursts into giggles while he attempts to spin her, nearly losing his balance, and then he carefully helps her back in her seat.
My father was a shit dad to Vinny and me growing up. He was a drill sergeant, a don preparing for his sons to take the reins. Instead of fatherly insight, we received punches in the face for acting out and kicks to the stomach if we incorrectly disposed of a body.
He’s a great grandfather though. It’s surprising to see this callous man treat her with such a caring manner.
My mother, on the other hand, lacks that warmth with Amara. I’m sure she loves her, but Amara reminds her of how she failed to birth a daughter.
The chef and servers start delivering the first course after my father sits beside my mother. We make small talk—never discussing business in front of my mother and Amara.
“Vinny, we need to start planning your wedding,” she tells him.
He snarls, “Hard pass on that topic right now.”
She cradles her wineglass while shifting her focus to me. “We should find you another wife as well, Antonio.”
“I’ve already paid my dues,” I reply, shaking my head.
Eight years ago, I married a woman I didn’t love for the sake of the family. That won’t happen again.
“It’s been forever since Sienna’s death,” she argues, and I clench my jaw.
“If Daddy gets a new wife, will she be my mommy?” Amara asks with a gap-toothed smile, sounding so fucking innocent.
She’s been on awhy don’t I have a mommykick recently.
I can give my daughter anything she wants but that. Getting married again solely to give Amara a stepmother is delusional.My marriage to Sienna was a nightmare, and although Amara is the only blessing to come out of it, I still hold a grudge against my father for sticking me with her.
I shoot my mother a disapproving look. She doesn’t need to fuck with my daughter’s head. She’s already done enough damage with her sons.
“Amara, why don’t you see what sweets Chef Kathy made for us?” my father suggests, always one to read the room. “I think she baked your favorite snickerdoodle cookies.”
She peers at me for permission.
“Go ahead,” I say.
She jumps out of her chair and runs to the kitchen.
