Missing for Twenty Years, I Found My Mafia Father in a Nightclub Chapter 02
Bianca dropped into the seat beside me, her displeasure obvious.
She looked me over from my dress and shoes to my makeup, as though inspecting someone who had no right to be in that room.
“What the hell are you wearing? Those clothes are cheap, your makeup is a smeared mess, and you don’t even have a Family name worth mentioning. What makes you think you belong in the Don’s private lounge?”
I said nothing and curled one hand into a fist.
The possibility that had just formed in my mind suddenly began to crumble.
He already had a daughter everyone acknowledged.
How could he possibly be my father too?
“Who gave you permission to stare at me?”
Bianca slapped me again, even harder than before.
I staggered back a step and pressed a hand to my cheek without fighting back.
Don’t fight back.
Once I finished tonight’s shift, I would have the last of the money I needed to travel to Atlanta and meet the person who claimed to know my father.
That might be my only lead.
The next moment, Vincent rose to his feet.
I waited for him to speak, believing he was finally going to stop Bianca.
“Does your hand hurt?”
Instead, he walked straight to her and turned her palm over in his hands.
“You hit her so hard. When we get back to the estate, you’ll complain that your hand hurts again.”
Only after examining her hand did he look at me.
“I’m sorry. Ever since I adopted her, the entire Family has spoiled her.”
“I always thought that if someone had taken in my daughter all those years ago, I would want them to treat her as their own child, not as a worthless outsider.”
Bianca said nothing, but she kept staring at me, jealousy and wariness written all over her face.
An older capo beside Vincent began explaining on his behalf.
“The Don became head of the Moretti Family while he was searching for his daughter. He traveled all over North America for the Family and built its docks and shipping routes, but he never stopped looking for her. Whenever he drinks too much, he says he failed his wife and daughter.”
Another adviser continued.
“He said that when his daughter was little, he didn’t even know how to make her a bottle. Once, he spilled hot milk on her right arm and left a scar.”
My body went rigid, and I immediately reached for my right arm.
An old burn scar lay beneath my sleeve.
My pulse raced so violently that I nearly called him Dad right then and there.
Bianca seemed to notice my reaction.
She immediately looped her arm through Vincent’s and cooed, “That’s enough. Don’t talk about this in front of me.”
Vincent gently brushed the bridge of her nose with his pinky.
The gesture was tender and achingly familiar.
Dad.
I knew that gesture.
I could barely remember anything from before I was taken.
Other than the scar at his temple, what I remembered most clearly was how Dad always hooked his pinky around mine when we made promises and used that same finger to brush my nose.
He would smile and say, “All right. Daddy will buy you some candy.”
So he had never forgotten me.
He had simply given another girl the little habits that had once belonged only to us, and somehow that hurt even more.
After everyone finished laughing, Bianca rubbed her stomach and said she was hungry.
Mia handed her the menu, and Bianca casually ordered two plates of pesto pasta with extra pine nuts.
I immediately looked at Vincent.
He was checking his phone and made no attempt to stop her.
Yet in my hazy memories, pine nuts had never been allowed in our home.
Whenever the cook prepared a meal, Dad would repeatedly warn, “My daughter and I are both severely allergic to pine nuts. Make sure there aren’t any in the sauces.”
While I stood there frozen, Bianca twirled a forkful of pasta and held it to Vincent’s lips.
“Dad, let me feed you.”
“He’s allergic to pine nuts!”
The warning tore out of me before I could stop it, and every person in the room turned to stare.