Page 94 of Falling for the Grumpy Bad Boy

“My parents,” I said. “I wouldn’t say it’s actually big enough, but we fit. My Uncle Sal has a pretty big house but not everyone wants to hang out there.”

“Why?”

“Too much heat.”

She paused with the glass halfway to her lips. “Heat. As in⁠—”

“Yes, as in the Feds, police, and other people.”

She licked her lips. “So, can we just address the elephant in the room?”

“Do we have to?”

“No, but you can tell me. No judgment.”

“My father,” I started, then stopped. “Fuck, where do I even begin?”

“The beginning usually works.”

I looked into the fire, watching the flames dance. “My father was a mafia don.”

Clementine burst out laughing. “Oh, yeah right. A don? I might be naive but I’m not stupid, Rhett. This isn’t The Godfather.”

I just stared at her, letting the silence stretch until her laughter died away and her eyes widened.

“Oh my God,” she whispered. “You’re serious.”

“Dead serious.”

She set down her champagne with shaking hands. “But, I mean, didn’t you study culinary arts?”

“Didn’t you read anything about my history during all your research? I’m kind of famous.”

“I read that you came from a tough background,” she said slowly. “But I never really dug deeper. I don’t care where people come from, just where they are and where they’re trying to go.”

That hit me harder than I expected. Here was this incredible woman who’d taken me at face value, who’d never once googled my family name or tried to dig up dirt on my past. Her optimistic view of the world was both refreshing and terrifying.

“I like that about you,” I said. “But my past isn’t something I can just leave behind. It’s deeply ingrained in who I am.”

She shifted closer, her eyes never leaving mine. “Tell me.”

So I did. I told her about growing up in a family where violence was a regular occurrence and loyalty was worth more than money. I told her about watching my uncles count stacks of cash at Sunday dinner while my grandmother served homemade pasta. About learning to cook in a kitchen where the pantry doubled as a place to store illegal weapons. Dinner conversation was all about who got pinched and who owed what.

“Drugs, weapons, closed-door deals with dirty cops were part of the operation. It was large and highly profitable. I’m the first male in the family to opt out of that life.”

“That must have been difficult.”

“It caused a lot of strife for my father. Training in Vegas saved me from most of the fallout. While I was away learning to be a chef, my childhood home was raided at three in the morning. Federal agents kicked down the door, scared my mother half to death. My father was arrested and charged with racketeering, among other things.”

Clementine’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, Rhett.”

“The only times I see him now are during visitation hours at the federal prison in New York. Two hours a month, if I’m lucky. Or if he’s lucky.”

She looked heartbroken for me, and I couldn’t stand it. “Are you close? To your dad, I mean.”

I shrugged. “I don’t hate him. I never really approved of the family business. It caused more than one argument. He thought I was embarrassed or that I thought I was better than the family business that had made all of them very wealthy. It was a business that went back several generations. I think he was embarrassed that the dynasty died with me.”

“But what about your uncles?” she asked.