Page 95 of The Tempted

I couldn’t stop the tears from welling in my eyes or cascading down my cheeks. I should’ve chalked it up to hormones, but it had nothing to do with hormones and everything to do with Anthony. I closed my eyes, bringing myself back to last night, to when he grabbed my hand and called me the nickname he gave me on our first date. It was silly, and at times I thought it was ridiculous that he called me Reese’s. As the years went on I craved his gruff whisper of his name for me. I was sure I’d never hear him call me that again. He took me by surprise and at the same time that one word gave me the strength I needed to give birth.

I sighed, brushing away my tears, his thoughtful gesture breaking the scraps left of my heart.

“Shit! A, don’t cry,” Nikki said behind me.

“I’m not crying,” I lied sniffling.

“It’s the hormones,” another lie.

“Bullshit,” she cursed, calling my bluff as the door opened and my parents stepped inside. They were both wearing the proud grandparent grins. I expected my mom to be over the moon, she had been talking about being a grandmother for what seemed like forever. However, I didn’t expect my father to be such the doting grandfather.

“Where’s my boy?” He announced, as he side-stepped my mother making his way to my son before she could. Nikki and I exchanged a glance and I gave her a slight nod as she handed my little boy over to our father’s waiting arms.

“I think someone stole your father’s heart,” my mother said, as she stood over my father’s shoulder, peering down at Luca. “Yes you did my sweet boy; you’re grandma and grandpa’s little angel.”

I stared at my parents for a moment, mainly my father, as my fist closed over the bag of candy. I should’ve been elated watching that endearing moment between my son and my father, but all I felt was rage. It was bizarre, that this man could incite so much hatred inside of me, even on one of the happiest days of my life. I guess there was no hope in me erasing the horrible person he was from my memory. No pretty little image of him holding my son would tarnish the image embedded in my brain. The image of a vicious man who wanted me to abort my first pregnancy.

I used to think my mother was crazy, when we were kids she would pin little red ribbons to mine and Nikki’s undershirts and tell us the ribbon would keep the evil eye away. Later, when we were teenagers, our father bought us gold rope chains that had a gold Italian horn pendant, another thing to ward off the evil. It was an Italian superstition I never believed in, not until the day I told my dad I was pregnant. There was no red ribbon or gold charm that would save my baby from the evil my father radiated onto my pregnancy.

Anthony ran his fingers through his hair, pacing back and forth in front of me as I stayed seated on my parent’s sofa. I could tell he was nervous, no matter how much he tried to hide it. He was meeting my father tonight as per my dad’s request, to talk about business. We both knew what he would say. He was going to lay it all out there for him, the confession to a crime Anthony didn’t commit, the sentence, and the plan behind it all.

Anthony never spoke of my dad’s business with me. There were certain things I couldn’t know, didn’t want to know, and then there was the fact that I absolutely despised he worked for my father. My girlfriends used to tease me, telling me that I got off on Anthony being a bad boy; that I was turned on by his tough exterior and the fact he walked a crooked line. The truth was, his bad boy tendencies appealed to me, but not in the way everyone thought. I wanted to take the bad boy and I wanted to make him realize he was so much more than what he believed. I didn’t want him to think he wasn’t good enough to have goals or dreams. I wanted to repair the damage his father instilled in him the day he walked out on him and his family.

Anyway, he had no choice but to tell me the plan my father had for him. Years ago, Uncle Val, my father’s underboss, had been brutally murdered in place of my dad. Since that day, he has been trying desperately to avenge his death. An eye for an eye and all that bullshit, and that’s exactly what it was, bullshit. If my father really wanted to avenge the death of his best friend he should do it himself, at his own hand not at my boyfriends. He is forcing Anthony to confess to a crime he didn’t commit. All in the hopes that Anthony will get his hands on the man who ordered the hit on Val and ultimately bring him to his mercy.

I don’t know if Anthony has ever killed anyone on my father’s orders, nor do I want to be privy to that information. I do know, that is the plan for him now. The thing is that’s where the plan ends. My father doesn’t speak of what will happen to Anthony once he kills the man who ended Val’s life. He doesn’t offer any insight to the mental anguish he’ll suffer or what the punishment will be for his crimes. Which leads me to believe, what I’ve always known to be true, Victor Pastore is a selfish bastard.

I begged and pleaded with Anthony to change his mind, to tell my father to go fuck himself. I needed him to prove I meant more to him than some fucking order, but Anthony was fiercely loyal. His loyalty was both a blessing and a burden.

The front door opened and closed softly, signaling that my father had arrived home. I glanced at Anthony, watched as he remained perfectly still, listening to my father’s footsteps in the front hall. He turned around to face me, dropped on one knee and took both my hands in his giving them a slight squeeze.

“It will be okay,” he whispered, his crystal blue eyes holding me captive as they reassured me. I could tell his mind was racing, I could almost see the wheels turning behind his irises, but still he seemed so completely composed. He bit on the inside of his cheek, dropping his gaze to my flat stomach, releasing one of my hands to place his flat palm over the fabric of my shirt that draped over my belly.

I knew without a shadow of a doubt he would be an amazing father. Our baby is going to be loved more than either of us could ever imagine loving someone. He’s going to right all the wrongs his father did as a provider and role model. I can see it all right there in the way he gently splays his hand over my stomach and stares at me in awe. He’s always looked at me like I was some sort of gift from God. Since I told him I was pregnant he’s been looking at me differently, like the sun rises and sets over me, like I’m the reason he breathes.

His hand dropped as the heels of my father’s shoes sounded more pronounced against the wooden floor. Anthony rose to his feet, crossed his arms against his broad chest, his stance as lethal as the job my father has asked him to do.

My dad stepped into the living room, taking one look at Anthony before turning his attention towards me, offering me a warm smile. He looked as if he was confused by why I was there but didn’t say anything. Instead, he made a detour to the liquor cabinet and fixed himself a scotch.

“Hi sweetheart, I didn’t know you’d be home,” he greeted as he swirled the amber liquid in the crystal glass. I wanted to rip it from his hand and pour the scotch over his head. He was so completely unfazed by what he was doing to us, making all the love and admiration I once had for him morph into hatred.

“Sorry to disappoint you,” I mumbled, earning me a warning glance from Anthony.

My dad took a long sip of his drink.

“That’s good,” he said more to himself than to us before placing the glass back on top of the cabinet and turning around to face us.

“Sweetheart why don’t you go upstairs for a few moments, Anthony and I have business to discuss,” He said, condescendingly.

“She’s not going anywhere,” Anthony responded, his tone stern.

I watched the exchange between the first man I ever loved and the one I’ll love for the rest of my life. They looked as if they were in the middle of a standoff. Anthony matched my father’s cold hard stare with one of his own.

“Excuse me?” Daddy dearest said. “I don’t discuss business matters in front of my daughter.”

“You won’t be discussing much. I have something to tell you and you’re just going to listen to me speak.”

“Watch your step,” my father warned.

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