Page 41 of Sold To My Ex's Dad

Rolling my eyes, I grip the door handle tighter, ready to make a quick exit. But then it hits me—if I step out now, I'd be walking straight into them. No thanks. I'd rather not get tangled up in whatever sleazy tale they're spinning tonight.

Leaning back against the wall of the restroom, I tell myself it'll just be a minute more. They'll move along soon, I hope.

Just as I'm starting to tune them out, a snippet of their conversation catches my attention.

"—just need to take care of the guy," Donnie says.

Hearing that, I freeze in place, and my heart thumps a bit harder. Take care of the guy? That doesn't sound like they're planning a farewell party.

I inch closer to the door, my ear practically glued to the wood, trying to catch every word. My mind races through the possibilities—none of them good. Is this just macho posturing, or is there something more sinister at play?

As I strain to listen, the voices become clearer. They're discussing someone who seems to be a problem, someone who's in the way. The conversation dips into details, money involved, timing. My stomach tightens. This isn't just locker room talk; it sounds like they're plotting a murder.

"Yeah, you know the one; he's starting to be a real pain," Donnie's voice carries through the door, his tone dismissive but laced with annoyance. "I’m tired of waiting around for my big shot, you know? It’s time for me to make a name for myself.”

The other man, his voice lower, sounds hesitant. "Donnie, you know that's just asking for trouble. I don’t even need to tell you all the shit that could go wrong. Are we ready for that?"

Donnie’s laugh is shallow and humorless. "Maybe that’s exactly what we need: a show of strength. I’m fed up with this bullshit, tired of always being treated like a fuckin’ kid.”

There's a pause, the kind that fills the air with tension before the other man sighs. "All right, if you think it's time, then it’s time. But when this is all over and done, you’d better remember how I stuck my neck out for you.”

"Don’t worry," Donnie agrees, his voice firm. "You’ll be right there with me at the top.”

Their footsteps start to fade as they walk away, their voices dropping to a murmur before disappearing completely.

I'm left frozen against the wall, my mind racing. This wasn’t just some tough-guy talk or business rivalry; they were discussing something far more dangerous. It's like something straight out of The Sopranos, except it’s real, and it's happening right here in my workplace. They were talking about killing someone—an actual hit.

My hands shake slightly as the reality of what I’ve just overheard sets in. I need to tell Patrick, but where do I start? How do I explain that a potential murder is being plotted in his restaurant?

As I weave back through the kitchen, the gears in my head are grinding hard. Patrick's cozy monthly deal with the Amato crew, clearing out the restaurant for their private dinners, now seems way more dangerous than what I signed up for.

How could I have missed the obvious? Here I am, thinking I'm just whipping up five-star dishes, when it turns out I might be stirring the pot in a whole other world.

The idea of tangling with the mafia—even on the fringes—has me kicking myself. I've seen enough movies and read enough headlines to know that this isn’t just some thrilling plot twist—it's a real danger. Walking away from the job might seem like a simple fix. Cut ties, turn in my apron, and just disappear into the night.

But then there's the not-so-little issue of the tiny human growing inside me. Quitting would not be merely walking away from my job; I’d also be walking away from Patrick, who happens to be the father of my baby. I’m more tied up in this mess than I realized.

Is Patrick just making a risky business move, or is there something darker lurking in those handshakes? The thought chills me. If he’s mixed up in something dangerous, what does that mean for me? For our kid?

Once these kitchen doors close tonight, I’m going to need some real answers from Patrick. I have to know what kind of trouble we’re really in.

Chapter 26

Patrick

Back in the kitchen, I notice Allie slipping through the door, her usual spark dimmed. Something's off. I keep my voice even as I ask her, "Is everything okay?"

She offers me a weak smile. "Yeah, everything's fine." It doesn't take a genius to see she's far from fine, but I decide not to press her. Now's not the time.

"Let's focus on finishing up that dessert," I say instead, shifting our attention to the night's culinary finale.

The waitstaff buzzes in just then, ready for their next move. I quickly brief them, "Get espressos ready and see if our guests need anything before we serve dessert."

Once they scatter to attend to the guests, I find a moment to close the distance between Allie and me. Taking her hand gently, I raise it to my lips and kiss her knuckles, trying to bring some lightness back. "Can't wait to have you all to myself tonight," I murmur, hoping to see a genuine smile.

She smiles back, but it’s forced, a shadow still lurking behind her gaze. "Me too," she says, but the enthusiasm isn't there.

Her reaction causes a knot in my stomach. Whatever's weighing on her, it’s serious. I squeeze her hand, conveying silent support. Right now, I have to respect her space, but later, I need to find out what’s really going on. We need to be open with each other, especially if we’re going to make this work, not only in the kitchen but beyond it.

---