57. Allie
Allie
Of all the things I expected to walk into my restaurant and see tonight—an entire table of food bloggers secretly plotting my demise, Kai double-fisting espresso shots while simultaneously flirting with one of the line cooks—this wasn’t on the bingo card.
My parents.
Sitting.
At a table.
In my restaurant.
I freeze mid-step, the stack of freshly printed menus in my hand teetering precariously as my brain decides it served its time and ships off for an overseas vacation.
A reasonable person might assume this is a good thing, that maybe—just maybe—they’re here to congratulate me.
You know, normal parental things like Wow, we’re so proud of you! or Look at you, living your dream!
But no.
Because my father looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. The DMV. Jury duty. A funeral. His own funeral.
My mother, ever the perfect Cosa Nostra wife, sits beside him, her expression unreadable, her posture rigid. And my father? He’s already gripping the edge of the table, something he does when he's impatient or holding back irritation.
Great.
With a deep breath, I steel my spine and walk over. “Wow, didn’t expect to see you two here. Are we celebrating a change of heart or just here to critique my menu?” I plaster on my best I’m totally unaffected by your presence smile and rest my hands on my hips.
My father’s gaze lifts from the table, slow, the way a mafia boss looks at someone before he decides whether they live or die. I used to be on the “live” list, but after being ghosted and leaving the family, who knows anymore?
“Allie, you look well.” If only his voice wasn't so impersonal when those words came out.
That’s all I get? I could be missing a limb and he’d still say the same damn thing.
“Thanks, Papa. I'm happy with my life, so that helps.”
Mom clears her throat, a prim, disapproving sound. “We wanted to see you.”
Did you, though? Because this feels an awful lot like an obligation, like someone held a gun to their heads and forced them to pretend I still exist. Marco. I wonder if he forced them to come here. There are few my Papa would follow orders from, but if the Don says, you do.
“And why is that, exactly? You suddenly remembered you have a daughter? Thanks for coming to the wedding by the way.”
My father’s jaw tenses, his fingers tapping against the newly ironed linen covering the table. “We wanted to make sure you’re happy.”
“Uh-huh.”
“We also wanted you to understand why we cannot see you,” my mama adds, voice smooth and practiced, as if she’s rehearsed it in front of a mirror. “Because of the family.”
Right. The family.
Not our family. Their family.
The one I left. The one that decided I was nothing more than a prize to trade and when I refused, I was worthless.
“Oh, no, totally get it. You can’t be seen with someone who leaves. It would be bad for business. God forbid someone sees you enjoying a meal with your own flesh and blood and assumes you’ve suddenly gone soft.”
Mama flinches. Papa doesn’t. He just exhales slowly, nodding like this is exactly the outcome he expected. Like he knew, deep down, I’d never come crawling back. "We do hope you’re happy, Allie."
That’s the closest thing I’ll ever get to an apology. Or affection.
And damn, if that doesn’t sting more than I care to admit.
What the hell was I expecting? Some grand, tear-filled reunion? Maybe we love you no matter what tossed in for good measure?
Stupid. So stupid.
I swallow against the lump in my throat, lift my chin, and force a nod. “Yeah. Me too.”
Mama clears her throat. “The restaurant looks…well?” Her voice lingers, like she’s offering a question rather than a statement.
“Yes. I had a reopening night. You were invited.”
Her skin pales, guilt flickering across her face before she tamps it down. “Allie, you chose to leave. This is hard for both of us.”
“Hard because I left? Or because you didn’t get to tie yourself to the Romanos?”
Papa pushes back his chair, buttons his suit jacket and barely looks at me. “You left. You knew the consequences. Don’t act like we did something wrong.”
I tilt my head, studying the man who taught me everything about power, control, and how to hold my emotions hostage until they suffocate. “There’s no rule that says you have to shun me.”
“If we don’t, it makes us look weak.” His voice drops, his gaze shifting around the room like someone might overhear. “Do you understand what it would look like if the men who work for me thought I let you leave?”
Ah. There it is. The heart of it all. His reputation. His power. His over-inflated ego.
“Well, good thing you’ve handled that flawlessly, Papa,” I say, flashing a sweet smile.
Then I turn on my heel and walk away, because if I stay a second longer, I’ll say something I can’t take back.
I head straight for the kitchen, grabbing a tray and pretending to check the order tickets, even though my vision is blurring. My stomach twists like I just ate bad sushi, like my body knew this was coming and still wasn’t prepared.
Work. Family. It feels like I’ve lost both. After all, I might live my dream of owning my restaurant, but am I happy in every aspect of my life? Not really sure how to answer that question.
“Allie.”
I startle, glancing up to see Vinnie leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.
“You good?”
I huff out a laugh, except it’s not really a laugh. More like a ha-ha, isn’t life just a cosmic joke kind of exhale. “Fan-freaking-tastic. Family reunion of my dreams.”
Vinnie tilts his head, watching me like I’m an unsolvable equation. Then he shrugs, pushing off the frame. “You know Rico made them come, right?”
“What?”
“Yeah. He called your father, made it clear they couldn’t just ignore you. That if they were going to cut you out, they needed to own it to your face. No more pretending you didn’t exist.”
I stare at him, processing.
Rico did that? Rico?
The same man who barely speaks, who avoids emotional conversations like they’re a virus, who treats our marriage like a business contract with occasional orgasms?
That Rico?
For some reason, my chest feels tight. Not in the oh shit, I need a doctor way, but in the why does my cold-hearted husband actually have a soul way.
Why would he do that? Better yet, what the hell did he threaten my Papa with to get him to come here?
Like I said, there are very few that Papa would bend to.
I cross my arms, trying to shake it off. “Well, good to know I’m now a charity case he felt the need to advocate for.”
Vinnie smirks. “Or maybe he just wanted you to have closure.”
Closure.