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“I’m proud of you, honey.” He squats next to my seat and grasps my hands, pulling them to his chest. His solid heartbeat comforts me, and I suddenly realize how damn lucky I am to still have him with me. He’s all I have left. “For once… I’m at a loss for words.”
“Proud of me for what, doing something everyone else does?” I attempt to joke, speaking my earlier thoughts aloud. “Getting married? Doesn’t seem that hard these days.”
“For recovering,” he says seriously. “For flourishing. For making the best of the bad times and coming out stronger than ever. I’m proud of you for putting up with all of my bullshit.”
What he means is the running, the moving, the not knowing where we were going to sleep next. It took us almost a full year to get completely back on our feet after leaving the mafia, a full year of memories we both tune out.
“I’d do it again for you, Dad. You know that.”
“Your mother would be proud too.” Heavy sadness weighs on his voice. She died six years ago, just before we fled Chicago, but I know he still misses her every day. I do too. “I wish she could be here to see you.”
“Me too.”
“I think she must be looking down on you today.”
Clasping my hands in his, my father places a tender kiss to my knuckles, like a benediction. When he stands up, his knees pop with the movement.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you are turning into an old man,” I tease.
“Oh hush.” He cracks a smile. He gives me a flick on the chin like he used to do when I was a little girl. “You know I’m still as spry as a man in his twenties. Cool too.”
To prove his point, he cocks an eyebrow at me and slicks back his hair, turning on his heels smoothly. He’s aged well, still carrying the look of a classic American movie star, and the older ladies love him for it.
“Right. Just don’t embarrass me by tripping down the aisle. Or dancing down it,” I say with a warning tone. He gives me an innocent wink and slips out, shutting the door behind him. As the door closes on his chuckle, I catch my reflection again.
My expression looks lighter, happier, less pinched. Seeing my dad helped calm me down, quieting the little voice of doubt and worry in my mind.
I rarely think about the time before now, but just briefly talking about our past lives brings back a rush of memories. Before we left Chicago, my dreams were completely different—so different that I feel like I don’t even know the girl I left behind. The mafia princess became a picture perfect suburban woman in just a few years.
There was a small part of me that didn’t want to leave when my father dragged me away, that was consumed with the life of the mafia. But how is a sixteen-
year-old girl to know what’s best for her?
If we hadn't left Chicago, what would my life have turned into?
One thing is for sure, I wouldn’t be in such a hurry to get married or settle down. I would want to—
I cut off that thought before I can even finish it. There’s no point thinking about the life I left behind. Or the people.
Not even the ones who kept a piece of my heart with them.
Shit.
Now is not the time to be getting cold feet.
My hands clasp the locket at my neck on instinct, popping it open with my thumb. I look down at the familiar and worn picture it holds, a picture of a woman who looks just like me—hazel eyes, blonde hair that glints with natural highlights. The only feature I took from my father was his smile, and he’d never say this, but I know sometimes my dad has a hard time even looking at me. I remind him of Mom too much. Of everything he lost when she died.
“I hope you’re proud,” I murmur suddenly. Then I shake my head, wrapping my hand around the locket. “No. I know you’re proud. This is the life you must’ve wanted for me.”
No mother wants her child to grow up in the mafia, a place where a child may become a bidding piece. A pawn on a chessboard. Bait or blackmail.
I mean, just look at what a rival syndicate did to my mother…
They killed her.
I clasp the locket shut, knowing I’ve made the right choice to settle down and marry Brian.
This is the life I’ve chosen, and I’m happy with it.
