Page 120 of Chicago Sin
As we walk in and I rush to give my dad a hug and kiss, I adjust to the shock of seeing my dad hooked up to monitors, so I don’t notice that Armando’s gone stiff.
“You,” my dad spits, looking past me at Armando.
My mom and I gape in surprise to find him glaring at Armando.
“Why the hell are you here?”
I peer up at Armando, misgiving twisting in my gut. “You know my dad?”
“Oh no,” my dad cuts in, decisively. “Not my daughter. You are not messing around with my daughter.”
Armando holds his palms in the air and starts backing toward the door.
“Armando.” I try to stop him with my voice.
“I don’t want to upset anyone.” He lifts his chin toward my dad.
It’s good thinking, considering my dad just had a heart attack, but I’m too upset by the fact that I don’t understand what’s going on.
“Wait, how do you know my dad? What’s going on?”
“We work together,” Armando says, and my dad snorts. Armando’s at the door now. “I’ll wait for you in the lobby. Take your time.”
I stare at the closed door, feeling more than a little abandoned. What. The actual. Fuck? I look at my dad. “How do you know him?”
My dad frowns at me. “Tell me you are not dating that guy.”
“Not exactly.” I’m screwing him on the regular, but we’re not officially dating. Somehow I don’t think that’s going to endear my dad to Armando, so I don’t explain.
“He’s the one you told me about?” my mom asks. “With PTSD?”
I nod, still eyeing my dad. “Tell me how you know him.”
My dad tries to push himself to sit up and winces.
“Take it easy.” I lay a hand on his chest. My mom slips her hand in his and squeezes.
“Hannah, honey, I hate to tell you, but that guy is mafia.”
I almost laugh. “Oh. Yeah, I know, Dad. Remember I told you the building where I have Garden of Eden is owned by the mafia? I’ve known Armando for years.”
My dad’s brows drop low, and he glowers at the door. “I do not want you involved with guys like him.”
I bristle, but my dad’s in a hospital bed, and I probably shouldn’t upset him. “He’s a decent guy, Dad. But we’re not officially dating, so don’t worry about it.”
I look at the door again. Armando didn’t even try with my dad. He just backed out and left. I know he’s not my boyfriend, but it still hurts. Like he didn’t fight for me.
“So wait, does he work in construction?” I ask, hardly believing it.
“He’s dead weight,” my dad says. “One of those guys the mafia forces the union to give a job to. He collects a paycheck for doing nothing. He’s a real upstanding guy, your boyfriend,” my dad sneers.
“He’s not my boyfriend.” I say it firmly, like I’m willing myself to finally accept it. I mean, how much more obvious do I need him to make it? We’re not entering a relationship. He’s hiding out at my apartment, and we’re having sex.
End of story.
I’m all hot and flushed. Now that I’ve seen my dad is okay, I’m itchy to get out of there. I lean over and give him a kiss on the cheek. “I’m glad it was just a small heart attack, Dad. You really scared us.”
“I’m okay, baby,” he tells me, catching my hand and squeezing it. “You coming over tomorrow night?”
