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It was my future on the line, after all.
“Mario!” My father called out his security.
Was he throwing us out?
I didn’t want to be there when it happened. Couldn’t face the humiliation of being thrown out of my own house.
I stared at my father’s eyes. The same eyes that glittered with pride and respect not too long ago every time I entered the room as he ricocheted dreams of my marrying into a good, Italian Outfit family and filling this house with happy, privileged grandchildren.
They were empty.
I shot up from my seat, my legs padding across the carpets. I had no direction.
Tears blurred my vision as my feet carried me to the drawing room on the first floor, on the other side of the house where the grand piano sat.
I wiped my face quickly, tucking myself behind the piano, gathering the tulle of my summer dress to make sure I wasn’t visible to anyone walking into the room.
It was a childish thing to do, but I didn’t want to be found. I wrapped my hands around my legs and buried my face between my knees. My whole body trembled as I sobbed into my thighs.
Minutes passed before I felt someone else enter the room. It was pointless to look up. Whomever it was—they were an unwelcome company.
“Lift your head.”
God.
My pulse jumped at his voice.
Why him?
I remained motionless.
His footsteps carried across the room, becoming louder as he made his way toward me. When I finally peeked from behind my knees, I found my fiancé crouching down in front of me with a grave look on his face.
He’d found me.
I didn’t know how, but he did.
Not my mother.
Not my father.
Not Clara.
Him.
“What took you so long?” I lashed out at him, dragging the pads of my fingers across my cheeks.
I felt childish seeking his alliance, but he was the only one who could. Mama and Clara meant well but lacked any sort of power over my father.
“Work.”
“Work could’ve waited until tomorrow.”
“It could have until your father got into the picture.” His jaw clenched. “I had a meeting at a bar called Murphy’s. I left my briefcase there. It disappeared from my side, then a mysterious fire started in the kitchen, spreading to the rest of the pub soon after. Take a wild guess what happened.”
I blinked at him. “The Italian and the Irish have had rivalry dated back to the early twenties in this town.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Your father had my briefcase stolen and burned. He wanted to destroy the evidence I have on him.”
