Chapter Ten
BECCA
Hackensack, New Jersey
“ Y ou plan on telling me why we drove all the way to Hackensack to eat at a dump?”
I look up from my menu to find my father staring at me, his eyebrows lowered and pinched together. “A friend recommended it.”
“Are you sure they’re your friend?” He glances around the near empty restaurant, an elderly couple and an anti-social man huddled over his plate our only companions. “Maybe this is their way of getting rid of you.”
“Stop being such an elitist. Some of the best restaurants have unassuming exteriors.”
A valid argument if the exterior of Cucciola’s Trattoria hadn’t already bypassed unassuming and landed in something straight out of a B-grade horror movie. He’s right. It really is a dump, which cranks the coils of suspicion even tighter.
Of course, I’m not telling him that. I’m also not telling him the reason we’re here is because my husband can’t control his volume when he’s agitated.
I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but after multiple times of hearing Gianni yell in his phone about “Bobby at Cucciola’s”, my curiosity got the best of me.
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 to Cucciola’s . Are you ready to order, or do you need more time?”
“Manicotti,” my father says, closing the menu with 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 bit too 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.”
“Obviously.” He nods to where I’m rubbing the pad of my thumb over the palm side strip of my wedding band.
I stare down at the antique diamond. The one I found had the words L'amore è una macchia indelebile sull' anima. engraved on the inside. The same words Gianni said to me at the altar.
Love is an irreversible stain on the soul.
Just like sin.
“I didn’t get to walk you down the aisle,” he murmurs.
Looking up, I find him locked in a distant gaze. “Would you have?”
He waits a few beats, then offers the first real smile I’ve seen from him in a long time. “I’d like to think so.”
We sit in a jittery moment neither of us knows what to do with.
The Reeses don’t do heavy emotion, and we sure as hell aren’t comfortable wading in syrupy piles of sentimentality.
Thankfully, the server appears with a tray of food.
By the time our plates are in front of us, the awkwardness has passed, cementing a silent agreement to pretend like it never happened.
“Now, I may be an old man,” he says, stuffing a fork load of pasta in his mouth, “but I still know when I’m being hustled with a giant plate of manicotti.” He turns his fork around and points it at me. “You didn’t bring me here just to iron out a few wrinkled edges. So, let’s hear it.”
Once more, my appetite shrivels to nothing.
“It’s about Dagger,” I admit, pushing my plate to the side.
His fork stills. “If you want me to pick him out of a lineup, great. Otherwise, I can’t help you.” He caps the declaration off by stabbing into another tube of pasta.
“I know, but there might be something small you’re not considering, something that doesn’t seem important to you but could help Gianni track him down.”
Another overfilled fork load goes in his mouth. “If he wants to find him so bad, go to Providence.”
“Please, Dad. Do it for me…” Then, because I’m desperate and know it’s a cheap shot that’ll hit dead center, I add, “Do it for Mom.”
He exhales a rough breath. I’m about to jump out of my skin when his fork hits his plate. “He always summoned me on Tuesdays. I don’t know why, and I didn’t care to ask.”
The words hit like a brick wall.
Jack was killed on a Tuesday .
“Where would you meet?”
“At the docks.”
I tip forward, as if closing the few inches of distance between us will counteract those words. “Even when Gianni worked there?”
“Yep. It drives home the whole ‘happening right under your nose’ thing, huh?”
“Why the docks? Did he ever give a reason? It seems kind of risky.”
He tilts his chin and stares up at the ceiling. “Don’t, Becca.”
Something buried in the bite of his tone makes my stomach turn. “Why? Did you see him doing anything strange while you were there?”
“Other than existing? No. I walked away, and he walked toward the cargo berths.”
“You never found out what he and Marcello were running through the port?”
Silence.
“Dad?”
Silence.
Pressing my fingertips together, I fold them over my nose and tell myself this isn’t going where I think it is. But one look at the shame on his face, and I know it is. “What did you do?” When he clenches his jaw, I slam my fist on the table, sending silverware rattling. “Tell me.”
“They’re criminals. I assumed they were running drugs,” he says, the sharp downward pull at the corners of his mouth betraying his flat tone.
“Jack investigated a couple of reports involving undocumented shipments, but they were always outgoing, so I buried the files. I told myself it wasn’t affecting my citizens, so it wasn’t a big deal. ”
“But it wasn’t drugs.”
He lowers his head, his chin swaying side to side.
“No. After Carol was murdered, I was determined to nail those sons of bitches to their own damn crosses.” When he looks up, his eyes are glassy and red.
“So, after being summoned to the docks, I followed Dagger to the cargo berth. I hid behind some pallets while he and some men loaded five large crates onto a freighter.”
My heart sinks. I don’t want to ask, but I have to know. “What was in them?”
“I never saw,” he says, his voice breaking. “But I heard them.”
“ Them? ”
“I’ll never forget their screams. They were pounding on the inside of those crates, begging and pleading for help.”
I slam my palms on the table, my chair skidding backward as I hit my feet. “They were shipping humans ?”
The restaurant goes dead silent.
My father winces. “Considering who you’re married to, I’d suggest lowering your voice.”
I glance around to find every eye on me.
Well, almost every eye. The grumpy guy in the corner seems bored with anything but his plate.
Swallowing hard, I sink weakly back into my chair.
“I can’t imagine how scared they must have…
” I stop, the thought of being locked inside a dark, damp crate leading me down a dangerous path.
“Those screams…” he says solemnly, his guilt wrapping me in chains and forcing me down it, anyway. “I’ll never be free of them. They’re like a permanent stain…”
“On your soul,” I finish softly. He doesn’t answer, and I don’t want him to. I have no desire to explain the surface level meaning of that phrase, much less the deeper one. “Tell me you didn’t walk away.”
His posture straightens. “Of course not. The moment I knew they were shipping women in those things, I pulled my gun.” He pushes his plate away, the weight of the confession pulling the corners of his eyes and mouth down.
“I didn’t know how many crates of women I’d let disappear out of my city, but I was prepared to go down fighting for that one. ”
“Well, you’re very much alive, so that means those women aren’t. What happened?” My voice sounds monotone and robotic. I don’t like how easily I turn cold and indifferent when I’m trying to distance myself from the ugliness that constantly borders my life.
“Dagger happened,” he clips, hatred seeping out from between his clenched teeth.
“He stared at my gun and laughed. I thought it was because I was finally standing up for what was right.” He shakes his head with a bitter laugh.
“I should’ve known better. He was about to take my moment of strength and twist it into my greatest weakness. ”
“Yeah, I know this part of the story.” I slump into my chair. “It’s when he threatened to kill me, too.”
He stills. “No, he didn’t.”
“What do you mean, ‘he didn’t?’” I ask, desperately grappling for a truth that keeps slipping away. “That’s what you said—that you stopped fighting back and did what they wanted for over twenty years to protect me.”
“I did, but Dagger never threatened to kill you, Becca. He threatened to sell you.”