Page 22 of Possessive Mafia Vows

I suck in a deep breath and hold it in my lungs. I’m starting to see a pattern here: everything that comes out of his mouth is about him. Not me or Mom. Just him.

“I was a fucking idiot. I had everything I ever wanted, and I let it slip through my fingers. I was too self-absorbed to realize what I had until it was gone.”

That old cliché.

“I was young, Sienna. Too young to be a father, I know that now.”

“Is that your apology?”

His lips twitch into a half-smile. “I’m sorry. There, I’ve said it. I’m sorry. I regret what I did, but I’m not the same person I was then.”

“You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t take your word for it.” I watch him sip his whiskey, and wish I’d ordered alcohol too.

“I know.”

It’s still there, the condescending tone. I’m the grown-up, and you’re the child. I’m right, you’re wrong. I’m clever, you’re stupid. Like a scene fromMatilda.

“You know Mom’s gone, right?” I ask.

His eyes grow large with fresh tears. He’s good. He knows how to switch it on for the desired effect, but it feels like this is all for show. There’s nothing underneath the surface.

“I heard.”

“Why didn’t you look for me then?”

“I thought it would all be too raw. I thought… I thought you’d blame me.”

“You’re right. I did blame you.”

He smiles. “At least you’re being honest.”

That makes one of us.

“But you said youdidblame me. Past tense. I’ll take that as a win.”

I want to get up, walk out, and never look back, but I have one more burning question. “Why now? You didn’t try to find me when Mom died, so why are you back now?”

“I heard about your art gallery.” He strokes the side of his almost empty whiskey glass. “I’m proud of you, Sienna. But it made me realize that you are your own person now. I thought that if you at least heard me out, you’d make up your own mind about me, and then perhaps we could move forward.”

Predictable. I guessed it was the gallery that had drawn him out of the woodwork.

“You still haven’t said how you want to put things right.”

“It’ll take time, sweetheart, I know that. Just, please, give me a chance. That’s all I’m asking.”

I swallow. “Are we done here?” I can’t sit across the table from him and eat lunch. He’ll instinctively believe that he has won.

“Is that a yes?”

“I’ll think about it.”

He drains the rest of his drink in one mouthful and raises the glass to me in a toast. “That’s all I wanted to know, that you’ll give me a chance.”

Before I can reiterate that I only said I’d think about it, a man approaches the table. My father’s face smooths into an expression of pleasant greeting, and I turn around expecting to find the server waiting to take our order.

“Kyle?” I can’t hide the surprise from my voice.

No point asking him what he’s doing here; the Rinse belongs in the family.

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