Chapter 46
Lennon
We’re lying in bed, our legs entangled, Peaches curled up on the pillow beside my head.
The article in the Tampa Times is out, and I’m reading it with a huge grin on my face.
They used six of the shots we took. Mostly the casual ones that capture our joy.
One is a closeup of Sandro’s devastating smile with my hand cradling his face, the engagement ring sparkling in the sunlight. The title is “A Tampa Fairytale.”
Apparently before the photoshoot, Sandro had sat down for an interview with Jessica Eaton and told her our story.
Told her how we spent every summer together, how we lost each other for a decade, and how fate brought us back together.
Of course, he described his arranged marriage with Giada as a business arrangement.
I’m not sure how many people are aware of the mob families in Tampa.
The way she wrote up the story has my heart swooning like I’m experiencing it all over again.
Sandro is sipping his coffee and watching me. “Do you like it?”
I hug the magazine to my chest. “I love it. I can’t believe you did that.”
“I would do anything for you. You should know that by now.” His expression grows serious. “But now I need to ask you to do something for me. Well, for us, really.”
“Okay.”
He sets his cup on the nightstand and gathers me in his arms so we’re facing each other. “It’s about your father.”
“Oh.” A bit of the darkness seeps in. I’ve been enjoying being with Sandro so much, I haven’t wanted to think about my father.
“I told you about his stipulation about having a relationship with you. The thing is… he wants to be at the wedding.”
I sigh. “The wedding we’re having in three weeks. Not much time to decide.”
“I know.” He rubs my arm. “Do you think you could at least meet with him? See what your impression of him is?”
I frown. “You met him. What was your impression?”
“Honestly, besides being a cold-blooded killer, I don’t think he’s a bad guy.”
“Sandro!” I squeal and then begin to laugh, easing the tension in my body. I groan. “I just wish I knew what my mother would say. I feel like I’m betraying her.”
“If it makes you feel any better, he did tell me that he loved your mother.”
“Really?” I search his face. “And you believe him?”
“I do.”
I grin. “Say that again.”
Sandro puffs out a laugh and leans in to press his mouth to mine. “I do,” he whispers. He pulls me tighter to his body and deepens the kiss. He tastes like coffee and my future.
Peaches chirps in protest at the jostling and slides down the pillow to curl up at the bottom of the bed.
When we come up for air, and in my total mind-bending bliss I say, “Okay, fine. I’ll meet him. He has to come here, though.”
***
Three days later we’re having dinner with my father. Killian agreed to come to be a buffer. I decided Sully should come too, since he’ll be staying in Tampa and working with Sandro.
Rosalia’s is a five-star Bayfront Italian restaurant that’s been owned by Sandro’s family for fifty years. Tonight it’s closed, its tables empty, reserved for the meeting with my father.
Sandro and I arrive first. He holds my hand as we cross the polished, dark wood floors to the round table with lit candles.
A man approaches us, a waiter trailing behind him. “Buona sera, Don LaRocca.”
Sandro shakes his hand. “Speriamo che sia una bella serata.” Then he turns to me. “Chef Valenti, this is my fiancé Lennon Kelly.”
“Ah, congratulazioni,” he says to Sandro then bows dramatically to me. “Miss Lennon, it is an honor.”
I’m not sure how to handle someone bowing to me, so I just mumble an awkward, “thank you.”
Luckily he turns his attention back to Sandro and pointing to the waiter, he says, “Mario will bring out some appetizers when your guests arrive. Meanwhile, what can he get you to drink?”
Sandro slides out a chair for me. “Bring us a couple of bottles of the Conterno Monfortino to start.”
“Excellent choice.” He nods to the waiter, who scurries off.
I glance around the restaurant as Sandro takes a seat beside me.
The whole place is decorated in dark wood and forest green paint.
There are framed photos of people on the walls, and behind the bar are mounted wine bottle racks with hundreds of bottles.
The lighting is a few sconces on the wall.
It’s cozy and intimate and very old Italy.
“Are you nervous?” Sandro asks, watching me closely.
I check in. “More wary, I guess. And curious.”
He places a protective hand on my knee. “If it gets too uncomfortable and you want to leave, just say the word.”
Just then Big Tony opens the door and lets in Killian and Sully.
They’re both wearing black slacks and black button-down shirts with the sleeves rolled up.
Killian has added a white tie and Sully’s shirt is unbuttoned, a thick gold chain visible over a tattoo running up the side of his thick neck.
They’re debating something, but it seems friendly as they approach the table and shake Sandro’s hand.
“Boys,” Sandro says. “Have a seat.”
“Hey, sis,” Killian says with a wink.
Despite myself, a little smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. “Hey, yourself.” I turn to Sully, who’s looking a little uncomfortable. “Hi, Sully. Glad you could make it.”
He runs a hand over his beard and gives me a quick nod. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
The waiter returns with a rolling cart and proceeds to open a bottle of red wine. He pours a mouthful into Sandro’s glass.
Sandro swirls the glass, sniffs, and samples it, then nods his approval.
The waiter fills our glasses with the deep red wine, then places a few baskets of steaming bread in the middle of the table along with two dishes of herb-infused oil. He does this silently and efficiently, leaving us as soon as his task is done.
Sandro raises his wine glass. “A toast.” We all follow suit. “To family. Both discovered and created.”
“Sláinte,” Killian and Sully say, clinking our glasses.
The door opens again and a tall, gray-haired man strides in. I freeze. My stomach clenches. This is really happening. I’m meeting my father.
His eyes lock on mine and he pauses for a moment. Then shaking his head a little, he pulls his suit jacket closed and crosses the restaurant to stand in front of me.
I rise and offer him my hand, so many emotions waring for dominance—trepidation, excitement, fear, guilt. I’m trembling a bit as I say, “Hi. I’m Lennon.”
He takes my hand between his palms like it’s a fragile bird. His gaze is sweeping over my face, his blue eyes glassy. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. “Well, if you aren’t the spittin’ image of your mother. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
I see it then. The raw emotion, the pain. He did feel something for my mother. What exactly that is, I don’t know. But it’s enough to believe I made the right decision meeting him.
Sandro stands and holds out his hand. Maybe he noticed me starting to feel uncomfortable under Mac’s intense gaze. “Mac, good to see you again.”
I take my seat as they exchange pleasantries and then Mac pulls out the chair next to Killian, clapping him on the shoulder in greeting. “Son.” He nods at Sully. “Good to see you lads.”
Sandro pours some wine in Mac’s glass. “Appreciate you making the trip here. It’s hard for Lennon to get time off work right now.”
Mac takes a sip of the wine and nods appreciatively. Then his gaze returns to me. “Tell me about your work.”
I spend the next twenty minutes telling him about my job. He asks questions and seems genuinely interested, which is unexpected. The waiter brings appetizers and the conversation flows as everyone eats and drinks and gets to know one another.
At one point I feel a warmth pool in my gut as I listen to Sandro, Killian and my father discuss the value of a yacht Killian found for sale. I snort when it comes out that Killian is going to make it a strip club.
Sandro winks at me, more relaxed than I’ve seen him since his return to Tampa. It hits me that this beautiful, protective man is going to be my husband. Husband. Last week, getting married wasn’t even on my radar.
Could this really be the start of a different kind of family for me?
I take a bite of stuffed mushroom and take in the men around me. They are dangerous, yes. But also loyal to a fault. Loyal to family.
I move my attention to Mac. I can see why my mom was with him. He’s charismatic, charming, and makes you feel seen when he talks to you.
Did you love him, Mom? If she did, maybe she wouldn’t mind so much if I got to know him.
As if Mac senses my question, his eyes flick up to meet mine. “Lennon, I have somethin’ for you.” He pulls an envelope out of his jacket pocket. “Look at it when you get home, yeah?”
I accept the envelope with a curious smile.
The waiter brings the main course, explaining the ravioli is filled with burrata imported from Campania. I press my lips together to suppress a laugh. I have no idea what that means, but I’m sure it's better than canned Chef Boyardee.
As we dig in—and I moan, because yes, it’s a million times better—I finally get the courage to ask the one thing I really want to know. I clear my throat and get Mac’s attention. “So, how did you meet my mom?”
Mac’s blue eyes soften as he wipes at his mouth with the cloth napkin.
“She was a waitress. She actually spilled a drink on me.” His gaze focuses on the table as he recalls the memory.
“The way she got so flustered with the most beautiful blush and sweet, sweet apologies. I just wanted to protect her from the world.” His head lifts and sadness pinches the corners of his eyes. “And I did. For four years.”
We eat as he describes how their relationship evolved. How he took her on her first trip out of the country to Ireland. How he enjoyed seeing the world through her eyes, and how she was so passionate and curious about everything. And fearless.
At one point, he sets his fork down and his expression turns serious.
“It’s probably my fault she ran and didn’t tell me about you, Lennon.
As you know, I was married. Mary and I, we already had Bran and Sully.
When she left me, Mary was pregnant with Killian.
I always thought that’s why she fled. Because there was proof I was sleeping with my wife, and she felt betrayed.
” He smiles sadly. “I was a selfish bastard, but I decided to let her go.”
So, Killian and I are the same age. Yeah, I could see how that would’ve hurt my mother. “Did you love her?”
He meets my eye and lets me see his regret. “Aye. I always will.”
I glance at Killian and Sully. Does it bother them to hear that? Are they protective of their mother? I can’t tell.
Three hours go by in a flash.
When it’s time to say goodbye, Mac takes my hand once again. “I would like to walk you down the aisle, Lennon. If that is not acceptable to you, I would like to at least be a guest at the wedding.”
I bite my lip. I’m emotionally drained and too tired to make a decision right now. “I’ll call you in a few days.”
He pats my hand. “Of course.”
As soon as we settle in the backseat, I dig the envelope out of my purse. Peeking inside, I see it’s a 5x7 photograph. Pulling it out, I stare at it, my heart skipping a few beats.
It’s a younger Mac and my mother, standing on a cobblestone street. She has her arms wrapped around his waist, her hair is long and blowing behind her. Her face is tilted up to smile at him. He’s looking down at her with a wider smile.
“They do look like they’re in love,” Sandro says from beside me.
“Yeah.” My chest aches. I miss my mom so much and getting this glimpse into a time in her life she never shared with me is both exciting and painful. I stroke her face. “She was happy with him.”
Did I ruin it for her? If she hadn’t gotten pregnant with me, would she have stayed with him? Lived her life as his mistress?
Sandro places a finger under my chin and forces me to look at him. His worried gaze is studying my face. “What’s that look, Angel? Tell me what’s going through your head.”
I rest my head on his shoulder with a sigh. “I just wonder if she would’ve been happier if she would’ve stayed with Mac. If she wouldn’t have had me. She was so lonely all my life. The only thing she did was work.”
“That was her choice. Looking into the past and second-guessing other people’s choices is a recipe for pain.
” He kisses the top of my head. “But I can tell you with one hundred percent certainty she never regretted having you, Lennon.” Shifting, he slides one arm beneath my shoulders and one beneath my thighs, pulling me onto his lap.
“And I for one am extremely fuckin thankful that she did.”
I forget all about my guilt as Sandro’s mouth dips to mine.