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“She doesn’t. I watch her when she thinks I’m not looking.”
Crow drank from his glass, his eyes on me.
“In her art room, there’s a large window that stretches from the floor to the ceiling. When I stand in the doorway, I can see her reflection. That’s how I see her face when she’s painting, the way she deliberates before placing the brush in the paint.”
He set the glass down then wiped his lips with the back of his forearm.
“She’s a very easygoing person, but when it comes to her artwork, she’s very serious. She cares about it deeply, but that’s not surprising considering how talented she is. I don’t know anything about art, but I know her art is…there are no words.” When we talked about Vanessa, our conversation didn’t seem so tense and forced. “What was she like as a child?”
“Selfish, bratty, a little know-it-all,” her father said bluntly. “But adventurous, beautiful, and strong. They said fathers push their sons harder than their daughters because they expect more out of them. That wasn’t true in her case. I spent far more time pushing Vanessa to be a strong and capable woman like her mother. Fortunately, Conway didn’t seem to care too much. He was ready to be a man by the time he was sixteen, ambitious, serious, independent…” He looked at his glass as he remembered her childhood. “I taught her how to fight, how to handle a gun, how to think critically …which explains how she escaped Knuckles. I told her to never wait around for a man to save her, not even me. I taught her to save herself.”
“I see a lot of her in you…and vice versa.”
“Not sure if that’s a compliment.”
I’d hated the Barsettis for so long, but spending time with them had taught me to respect them. They were honest, honorable, and compassionate. If Crow didn’t love his daughter so much, he wouldn’t be sitting with me right now. “It is. It’s the reason I fell in love with her in the first place. She has bigger balls than most men I’ve met. She stood up to me when men twice her size would have shit their pants. She didn’t hesitate to try to kill me, unlike most women. She’s told me off more times than I can count… I never knew that was the kind of woman I was looking for. Headstrong, confident, fierce…I respect her. She’s the first woman who didn’t just earn my respect, but commanded it. I see where she gets it.”
He picked up the glass, lightly tapping the side with his finger. “When I met my wife, she was the same way. Outnumbered and outgunned, she stood no chance at all. But that didn’t stop her from fighting. She put me in my place so many times. I respected the way she never stopped fighting. And I wished that my sister had been the same way…had fought harder and longer.” His eyes lifted up to meet my gaze, pain in his look. “I was close with my sister the way Conway and Vanessa are close. Conway looks after her even when I’ve never asked him to. They argue, but he loves her with all his heart. When I told him you were in the picture, he said his sister was amazing and deserved better, deserved the best. I wish I could tell Vanessa what he said, but he forbade me.”
“She already knows.”
He set his glass down, the condensation making a ring on the wood. “It’s been over thirty years, but I’ve never gotten over it. When my parents were gone, my sister turned into a daughter to me. As the oldest son, I became responsible for my two siblings. I was there when your father pulled the trigger. I watched the bullet enter her skull and spray blood everywhere. Her eyes had been on me at the time, and when she was dead, they just glossed over… It’s the kind of shit you never forget.” He grabbed his glass and took another deep drink. “Your father told me to bring twenty million, and he would make the trade—her life for the cash. I showed up and did exactly as he asked. He took the money and killed her anyway.” He looked at me, his gaze full of accusation, like I’d been present that very night.
We were supposed to keep the conversation light, but we’d somehow returned to our roots. “I’m sorry.” My apology meant nothing in this situation. His sister’s death wasn’t my fault, but as my father’s son, I felt obligated to right the wrong.
“Sorry for what?”
“My father wasn’t a good man. He did something unforgivable to your family. I can’t apologize for what he did because I wasn’t alive when this happened. But I am sorry for wanting to follow in his footsteps, for ever wanting to hurt your family in the first place. You’re good people…you deserve better.”
