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He thought he was giving me more than he could have otherwise — and maybe that was true.
But it's not like I knew we had money. We had lived a modest lifestyle.
Outwardly, anyway.
So, what good did it do being knee-deep in all the bullshit?
A strain lingered between us. So much so that when he placed the palms of his hands on my shoulder, I stiffened at the touch.
An unspoken weight hung tightly in the air, and I wasn’t sure how to face it. We walked bleakly toward the cab waiting for us and I mustered a smile when I tossed a glance over my shoulder at him.
“You aren't happy to see me,” he sighed almost sadly.
I looked at the ground, a lump forming in my throat as tears threatened to jerk from my eyes. “I am,” I said truthfully, but weakly. “Welcome home,” I whispered, pulling him into a faint hug. His arms wrapped around me; his grip tight, desperate.
I could sense the tension in his body; his struggle to bridge the space between us.
Unfortunately, it was a relational gap.
Not a physical one.
“I've missed you," he sobbed, his voice filled with longing. I felt his wet sobs filter onto my hair as I pulled away.
My lips tugged into a half smile.
I did love him.
I really did.
But I wasn’t sure how much I respected him anymore.
And that truth was what was so thick between us. Forgiveness wasn't something that could be granted so easily. The wounds were deep. The trust broken. Every time I thought back, I remember my dad telling me how good our word was; how the truth was the best thing we had.
He had lied to me for years.
I still needed time to process it all.
I needed time to reconcile everything I felt for him in the past because of all the pain it had caused me knowing what he had done.
Or at least envisioning all the terrible things he had done.
He had killed hundreds of people in the drug business alone.
I didn’t even want to think about all the other crimes he was involved in.
“Are you ever going to forgive me?” he asked sadly.
I nodded softly. “I just need time, Dad," I said tenderly, my gaze meeting his. "Time to heal, time to forgive. It's not easy, you know.”
He looked at me, his eyes filled with sadness. “I know, baby girl," he murmured. "But it hurts to know you’re marrying Luca Esposito when he is far bigger and badder than I am.”
I shook my head in frustration, trying to remain calm.
He’d been in prison.
He had no way of knowing
“Luca is different, Dad. He's choosing to get out of the game. He was in this because of his family. You got in this on your own,” I explained, my voice resolute.
