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“Get everyone ready, Rico. After I marry Serenity, the war begins. No one touches Serenity.”
“Got it,” Rico says and hangs up.
I put my phone down on my desk and then grip the edge. My nails curl into the wood as my knuckles turn white.
It hits me in that moment of rage that Serenity and I have something in common. I thought we were on opposite ends of the spectrum. I am a bad man. Head of the Salvatore family. A mafia man made by a trial of fire. Serenity is an innocent waitress caught in the crossfire of her dad’s shitty decisions.
And that’s true, but shitty dads are something we have in common. And maybe that will be the thing that connects us. An olive branch, so to speak. If I open up by talking about my father, perhaps it will cushion the blow that she will probably never leave me.
I walk down the hall to my room, where I keep her. When I enter her room, she’s sitting cross-legged on her bed, staring at a book.
I didn’t want her to get bored, so I got her some books. I'm not sure why. I guess I feel more for her than I thought—something that’s becoming more clear to me with every passing day.
She looks up from her book only to look back down.
“What do you want?” she says in a bored tone.
I put my hands on the cool bars, peering in, looking at her frame. The way she is slouched over her book. The dress she’s wearing shows off parts of her legs but keeps her thighs hidden. Her hair is over her face, shadowing her from me.
“Look at me,” I say, and her eyes lift up.
She brushes her hand over her hair, revealing her whole face. Those fucking pouty lips and doe eyes.
“What?” She shrugs.
“I want to tell you a story.”
“Oh, joy,” she says sarcastically but puts the book away and swings her legs over the bed.
I get a chair and take a seat, settling with my legs apart and my hands on my knees.
“I was born thirty-five years ago to a man who makes me look like a saint. Trust me, Serenity, this is the best version of me you could get. If it were my father…” A chill runs down my spine, and I don’t bother with the rest of that sentence. “His… brutal hands… ruined me. He taught me how to hurt people and that the ends justify any means. Always.”
I’ve never talked about this with another person before. I choke the words out, unable to stop myself.
“He hurt me, turned me into this. You’re not the only one with a shitty father.”
I look up for the first time while telling this story and Serenity isn’t looking at me with pity but with empathy.
“Some people really shouldn’t be parents, huh?”
I chuckle, not with humor. “Yeah.”
“Why are you telling me this?” she asks.
I stand up and walk to the cage. She stands up as well and walks toward me. She’s so close I can smell her shampoo.
Vanilla.
“I’m telling you this because I want you to understand that sometimes in life we’re given shitty hands.”
She looks at me with confusion, so I make a split decision to spit it out.
“It turns out your father had an affair with the wife of a player in town. And they are not happy about it.”
Serenity’s eyes close, and she grips onto the bars. I reach in and wrap my arms around her in a hug, the bars between us.
Her hands reach through the bar and grip the lapels of my suit jacket. Her breathing picks up, and her body shakes as she silently cries.
