Page 34 of Tormented Diamonds
After a quick internet search revealed it to be an Italian restaurant in Hackensack, my imagination spun out of control. My father was headed back to Providence anyway, so I thought, why not? It’s just a meal in a restaurant. What does it matter if it’s in Montclair or Hackensack?
I guess I’m lying to myself now, too.
“Elitist…” he huffs, nodding toward the door while wiping his napkin along the rim of his glass like it came out of the trash. “I’d watch throwing stones when you’re being carted around in the back of a Benz.”
I don’t have to turn around to see where he’s looking. I’m sure Leo, my newly appointed shadow, is idling by the curb with a set of binoculars and a notepad. I considered ditching him, but then common sense kicked in. Standing on my principles doesn’t count as a win if we’re both tied to a concrete block at the bottom of the Hudson.
“I’ve already told you it’s not for luxury. It’s for safety.”
“Yeah, well, tell that to your idiot bodyguard,” he mutters, lifting his glass for a hesitant drink. “He drives like he’s auditioning for NASCAR. I could barely keep up.”
“Here’s where I remind you that I offered you a ride, but you refused because, and I quote, ‘I’m not getting in any car a criminal is driving.’”
“Exactly, and if you had any sense, you wouldn’t, either.”
Thankfully, any further decline of the conversation stops when our server appears, her dark brown ponytail pulled tighter than my nerves. “Hello, welcome toCucciola’s. Are you ready to order, or do you need more time?”
“Manicotti,” my father says, closing the menuwith a snap. “She’ll have the caprese.”
“What if I don’t want the caprese?”
“Fine. What would you like?”
I slam my menu closed. “The caprese.”
The server hides her smile as she gathers the menus and disappears behind two swinging metal doors.
Dad and I sit in silence, staring each other down for a few moments, before fatigue has me throwing in the towel with a dramatic sigh. “I didn’t come here to fight with you.”
“Why did we come here?”
“To find some common ground,” I say, surprised at how honest the words feel. “Gianni and I are married, and that won’t change. So, you can accept it and be a part of my life, or you can destroy what little relationship we have left. It’s your choice. But what you won’t do is continue to disrespect my husband in front of me.”
He sits in quiet shock and a wide-eyed stare. I’m about to wave my hand in front of his face when he clears his throat. “I know you’re an adult capable of making your own decisions, but I’m your father. I’ve spent thirty-four years protecting you. It’s hard to turn that off. Especially when you tie yourself to the very…” His gaze lowers to where my fists are clenching on the table, and he swallows the insult. “You’re all I have, Becca. Can you blame me for holding on a little too tight?”
My emotions feel like they’re on a tilt-a-whirl. One minute I want to throttle him, and the next I want to latch on for dear life. Instead, I try to find balance somewhere in the middle.
“You’re fighting a one-sided war, Dad. The Marchesi who wanted to destroy our family is dead. You have to stop shifting his sins onto Gianni’s shoulders. If you knew the sacrifices he’s made for me, you’d stop firing bullets across some imaginary battle line and extend your hand across it.”
He snorts. “That’s pushing it a bittoo far.”
“Is it? Because if it weren’t for him, I’d be dead, too.” His face pales, and I retract my claws. “I know you dropped the charges and let him go so he could save me. If you truly believed he was irredeemably evil, you would’ve found another way. You trusted him for a reason. If you can’t admit it out loud, at least admit to yourself it was because deep down, you knew he loved me as much as you do.”
“Love isn’t always enough to win,” he says quietly. “Trust me; I know.”
The common ground of that shared pain causes me to reach across the table and take his hand. He stiffens at first, then gradually relaxes, eventually squeezing back. “I miss Mom, too, but stumbling over one rock doesn’t mean you’re going to trip over another.”
He takes it all in without uttering a word. I’m not offended. I said what needed to be said. What happens next is up to him.
What I don’t anticipate is the cocked head and narrowed-eyed stare. “Is that a new tattoo?”
Shit.
Snatching my arm back, I drag my sleeve over the black ink. “Stop trying to change the subject.”
He sighs, my shoulders curling inward as he pins me with a scrutinizing gaze. “He spends money on you; I’ll give him that. That’s definitely not off the rack.”
I glance down at my pale pink cashmere sweater. One piece out of a closet full of designer clothing Gianni had flown in from Italy. My taste runs a bit more understated, but seeing the way his eyes darkened at that first dress I wore put a dent in that. “He spoils me.”
