Page 13 of Driftwood Daffodil 3

“Is there a problem?”

“No.” I lied.

That ring was a symbol of love for my mother. Did I really want to taint that by giving it to a Ford? I also didn’t want Romeo to have it. If I didn’t take it, that’s exactly what would happen. Yet, I couldn’t make myself reach out and grab it.

“Saul, give us a minute.”

My eyes were stuck. Saul walked out, my father sat forward and I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

“Did I ever tell you how I met your mother?”

“Grandpa arranged your marriage. Mom told me the story.” She always spun it like a fairy tale. Two children were placed in a match by their parents and fell in love.

“Did she also tell you I tried to have her killed before the wedding?”

My eyes snapped up to his. “You did?”

“Oh yes.” He nodded. “I hated her.”

“Why?” Did she do something to him?

“Because my father picked her.”

“That was it?”

“That was it.”

“She didn’t do anything to you?” I clarified.

He shook his head. “No.”

“You tried to have her killed because grandpa picked her out?”

“Yes.” He nodded.

I didn’t think I could hate him more. The bastard didn’t even seem bothered by it. That was my mother he was talking about. The only woman in the world I loved. Why was he even telling me this?

“If this is your attempt at father/son bonding, then you’re failing.” Not to mention he was about twelve years too late.

“We’re more alike than you think, Giovanni. I hated my bride, and you hate yours.”

“We are nothing alike.” My situation was completely different. I didn’t hate Nova because someone else picked her. I hated her because her brother killed mine. My hatred was driven by revenge, not selfishness.

“You haven’t heard the rest of the story.”

Did I need to?

“Let me guess, you changed your mind when you saw her because it was love at first sight.”

“Oh no, I still wanted her dead.”

That might’ve made me a little curious, that didn’t mean I wanted to hear him out. But I also knew he wouldn’t let me leave until I did.

So, I sighed and waved my hand. “Fine. Tell me your story.”

I wanted to groan when my father swallowed down a mouthful of scotch, and settled into his chair. This wasn’t going to be a quick talk.

“I found two men that had no association with the family—I couldn’t have my father finding out—gave them the codes to the backdoor of her hotel and arranged for minimal security. They were to go into her room, shoot her execution style and leave, all within fifteen minutes.”

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