“What plan?”
“They told me you were going to cooperate with the Feds to help me out.” I bite back a smile at his naïve hope. The hit to the head must have been harder than Faro admitted.
“What makes you think I’d do that?”
“Because I’m your father, and you were always an obedient girl.”
“Obedient?” she repeats, curiously. I gulp back a curse – the fucking audacity of Donnelly. “You didn’t seem to think I was very obedient growing up. You slapped me so often I learned to flinch every time a man raised his hand. When other people were around, you threatenedme or said mean things. Even when I tried so hard to be good, it was never good enough.”
He shakes his head, a flash of annoyance in his eyes. “I had a lot on my plate, Francesca. I didn’t mean it. This Irish temper of mine gets me into trouble sometimes.”
“You always blamed our mother’s Italian temper when Ronan or I acted out.”
“I should’ve been more patient with you.”
“Yes, you should’ve,” she agrees.
Francesca steps closer, placing her hands on the bars of the cage. It takes every ounce of control not to lunge forward and put myself between them, but Donnelly is still sitting on the concrete floor in his ugly bathrobe. He poses no threat to her at the moment. The second he even thinks about hurting her though I’ll end him.
“You sold out Beppe.”
“Francesca, he was an old man. I didn’t really think they’d bother with him.”
“You told them every detail of things he’d been a part of before you ran. He died in prison.”
“You and your mother doted on him too much. He was going blind anyway,” Donnelly says, dismissively.
“We doted on him because he was always sweet to us. And just because he was going blind doesn’t mean there was nothing left for him to see or do.”
“You’re angry. I understand. He wasn’t your father though. I am.”
“Yes, you were. Why did you leave the way you did? I told them I needed to know that before I decided what to do.” I smirk at my clever girl saying ‘were’ instead of ‘are’ and ‘them’ when it’s only me.
“I had no choice. They didn’t give me enough time to-”
“Please, don’t insult my intelligence, Da. Everyone knows the Feds would’ve taken your wife and daughter in, too.”
“It was your mother’s fault, Francesca. She was born a De Luca, never had to lift a finger for anything. She wouldn’t have left the only life she ever knew when she could always run to her brothers.”
Thinking of the broken woman I saw the day he ran, remembering the shell of that woman I met at Enzo’s when I foolishly asked Francesca to be my mistress, a raging sense of injustice pumps through my veins at his blatant lies. Beatrice may not be a perfect person, but I’m in no position to judge. She loves her daughter, and her daughter loves her. He cast them both off like old shoes he didn’t want anymore.
Despite the glimmer of fury dancing in her pretty eyes, Francesca continues playing her part admirably. “And Ronan? What about him, Da? You must’ve known his life would be in danger, but you never even tried to warn him.”
“I’d already lost my son the day he chose his mother’s blood over mine. He took their fucking tattoo against my wishes. There was nothing I could do for him, don’t you see?”
Spoken like a true narcissist. Nothing is his fault and he chose himself, again and again.
“Do you know how they made contact with me?” Francesca asks her father. “Did they tell you how they recruited me?”
“Yes, at that music school you’re going to. Those silly songs you sang in our garden and your daydreams came in useful, didn’t they?”
“My silly songs and daydreams,” she whispers, half-amused and half-heartbroken as she shakes her head. I want tocrushhim like an insect for those words.
“Francesca, I’ll make up for my past mistakes, but I’m not sure how much time we have. There’s a key hanging on the wall over there. It might fit this lock,” her father urges. He must be regaining some of his wits. Not that it will save him.
Francesca walks toward the key and reaches for it. For a moment, my stomach tightens, wondering if she’s actually been moved by anything he’s said. When she turns to face her father again, I know better.
“Do you have any idea what it was like for me and Mom? What we went through because you left? How we mourned Ronan because of you? Do you care? No, don’t answer that. I know you don’t. I’m not working with anyone to help you, Da. My husband brought me to see you… and I think I like you right where you are in that cage.”
