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My dad picked up the menu and scanned it, even though he ordered the same steak every time. “So, what are you two getting to eat? Want to share a plate of cheesesteak dumplings with me?”
“I’m not hungry enough for an appetizer,” I shot back, trying to keep my voice level.
My stomach had been in knots all day. For all week, I’d been disgusted by his betrayal and sick over our dinner. But we had to clear the air. I wanted to dine and ditch, not sit down and have a heart-to-heart over a meal. It pained me to think this would be one of the last times I would ever see my father. He would never see Faith again. She would never have the chance to know her grandfather.
“I’ll eat some,” Angelo interjected. Like me, he was doing his best not to strangle my dad.
All I had to do was say the word and Angelo wouldn’t think twice. Angelo would have been happy to kill the man who had my mother murdered. It was hard to see him as my father anymore. Because a father would never do what he did to our family. He wouldn’t intentionally take the woman he supposedly loved from his only child.
Angelo rubbed my hand under the table and looked at my dad. “How’s the campaign?”
It was so hard for me to make small talk when all I wanted to do was confront my dad.
Who the hell cared about eating? I sure as shit didn’t.
Even though I knew he was responsible, I wanted to hear the words come from his mouth. One way or another, he would tell me the truth. Because I deserved it. He owed it to me.
Dad smiled and set the menu down in front of him. “So far, so good. The numbers are in my favor.”
“My dad will be pleased.” Angelo’s voice was devoid of emotion.
The waitress interrupted our conversation to jot down our orders, which was a welcome relief from the awkwardness at the table. After she left, we talked about current events and local sports until our food came. All of it was noise. None of us cared about any of the topics we were wasting our time discussing.
“Now that we’re done eating,” I said to my dad, “we can cut the shit. I asked you to come here for a reason.”
He sipped from his coffee mug, staring at me from beneath his dark brows. “Okay. What’s going on? Are you pregnant again?”
I shook my head. “No, nothing like that. I want to hear your side of the story. So, tell me, Dad...” I practically hissed his name. “Why did you have the O’Shea’s kill Mom?”
He cleared his throat and choked on his coffee, setting the cup on the table with a loud bang. “Excuse me? Did you just insinuate I killed your mother?”
I leaned down to remove copies of the papers Sonny and I had found in his office along with my cell phone. As I slid the documents in his direction, I turned on the recording app on my phone and kept it on my thigh. We needed proof of his actions to tie him to her murder.
Dad studied the papers, using the beat that passed between us to buy him some time to come up with a lie. He glanced up at me, his gaze meeting mine. “This proves nothing. Did I have a life insurance policy on your mother? Yes, I did. I have one on you and Faith, too.”
“Why? So you can kill us, too?” My voice rose to a higher octave.
Angelo promised to be quiet and allowed me to talk to my father without his intervention. I also wanted to keep his voice off the recording.
“Honey, I didn’t kill your mother for the life insurance money. That car bomb was meant for me… not for either of you.”
“That’s a lie, and you know it,” I spat back with so much anger in my tone it shook through me. “The numbers don’t lie, Dad. How dumb can you be? You kept a record of everything you ever did for Angelo Sr. You even have sticky notes inside the folders with dates and times. The one note said O’Shea ten-thirty. That was the same time Mom was murdered. You’ve always been friendly with the O’Shea’s. Connor watched over me for weeks after mom died. You killed her! Admit it, and save me the time. I need to understand why you did it. Tell me and maybe I can, one day, find a way to forgive you.”
The last part was a lie. I never had any intention of forgiving him. My heart was too black and broken for forgiveness.
He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, stared up at the ceiling, and sighed.
“You can keep the papers if it makes you feel better. Just tell me the truth.” They were copies. I had the originals back at the apartment. “Please, Dad. You owe me this. I need to know why you took my mom away from me.”
When he locked eyes with me, his bottom lids were red-rimmed and glassy. “What do you want me to say? That I’m sorry? Because I am. I wish I could take back everything. I should have cut my ties years ago and moved out to the country where your mom always wanted to live. If I could go back in time, I would. I’d redo so many parts of my life. I tried to be a good father. Now you’re a parent you’ll see for yourself.”
“I would never pay someone to kill Angelo for insurance money.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, turning his head away from me. “I needed the money. I felt like I didn’t have a choice. The company was falling apart, and I was under a lot of pressure from outside sources.”
That was his nice way of saying from Angelo Sr.
Tears streamed down my face, one at a time. “Was it worth it? Are you happier now that you’ve ruined our family?”
