Page 155 of Sins of the Orchid
“I don’t recall ever seeing you dance,” I told him. Truthfully, I wasn’t in the mood to dance. I’d rather be anywhere but here. “And how come Grandma invited you and the Russos?”
Dad shrugged, then tilted his head towards the dance floor next to the makeshift runway. There were lanterns hung around the dancefloor, giving it a soft glow, and separating it from the rest of the room. The only people dancing were Uncle Vincent and his girlfriend.
“I love dancing,” he claimed with a smile. Extending his hand, he added softly, “You can’t avoid me forever, Amore.”
With a heavy sigh, I reluctantly admitted he was right. I couldn’t avoid him forever, but I couldn’t help feeling angry that he’d commit me to something without talking to me or considering my wishes. That was the problem with the Cosa Nostra. Their notions were far too backwards for the current century.
I slid my hand into his and we made my way to the dance floor. The moment we stepped on the dance floor, a soft country tune came on.
I raised my eyebrow and smiled softly. “Country, really?”
“It was your mother’s favorite.” He pulled me closer in one swift move, and I chuckled, partly surprised.
“Wow, Dad,” I muttered slightly impressed. “I never took you for a smooth dancer.” We moved together to the George Strait song “Check Yes or No.” I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that he knew Mom loved country music.
“This was the first song that your mother and I danced to.” His tone was wistful. I pulled away slightly, searching his face.
He rarely talked about his time with Mom. It was odd to think I came about due to his infidelity, and my mother’s affair with a married man. I knew that being a bastard child in these traditional families was frowned upon. The only reason they tolerated me was because of who my father was.
I didn’t give a shit. I knew my self-worth, and I had my grandmother to thank for that. It must have rubbed off. At least in all aspects of my life but my love life. All my insecurities revolved around a single, tall, dark-haired man with dark eyes and ink covering his right arm.
“She loved country music,” I said in a soft voice. “A lot.”
“You look so much like her,” he rasped. “She would have been so proud of you.”
I blinked, swallowing the lump in my throat. I often wondered whether Mom would approve of what I was doing. I didn’t remember her ever raising her voice, never mind being violent. And here I was causing havoc. Though maybe I was more similar to her than my father since violence wasn’t sitting well with me.
Mom and I shared a love for fashion and designs. We shared our physical appearance, other than my red hair. But other than that, I couldn’t remember much of what her goals and dreams were.
“I- I-” I cleared my throat, thick emotions stuck in my throat. “I don’t remember much of what she wanted me to do. Only her… last words.”
Her last words calling for revenge.
Dad nodded, understanding in his eyes. I was thirteen when she died, but life was a series of constant adventures back then. She and George were always busy, and then in a blink, everything changed. We were taken, the cartel’s thirst for vengeance against Mom for crimes she wasn’t even aware of. And the worst betrayal was George’s. He lured me into going after those orchids, and when we were taken, Mom came for me.
“Her last message to me was to keep you safe,” he said. “And out of the criminal world. This marriage to Adriano will secure that.”
My heart screamed in protest. I wholeheartedly disagreed with him, but I didn’t want to ruin this moment.
“My only regret, Amore,” he said, “... was that I didn’t know about you until you were thirteen. Maybe I could have helped her and…”
And she’d still be here with us. Or would my father be dead too? I didn’t know how it would have all worked out. Besides, my grandmother had a point. He was married and marriages in traditional Italian families were for life.
“Dad, how did you know to look for me in South America?” I asked.
A sigh slipped through his lips and his shoulders slumped. Suddenly, he looked tired. “She called me. First time in thirteen years.” I held my breath waiting for him to continue. “It was before she went after you. She got a note from the cartel. Either she came willingly, or they’d start sending parts of you back in a box.” I knew how the story ended but still dread shot through my spine. “I begged her to wait for me to get there. So we could go together.”
My steps faltered, and suddenly I remembered. We stood in the middle of the floor, a few people dancing around us, but the two of us stood immobile. “She meant you,” I whispered. “She kept saying, ‘Your dad will save us. He’s coming for us.’”
He nodded. “I flew out immediately, but she was gone before I got to Colombia. I knew she wouldn't wait. She said she would, but I knew better… Still, I’d hoped.”
A shadow passed through his expression, and for the first time, it became clear that my dad was fighting his own demons when it came to my mom’s death.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. My heart hurt for them. For me.
He nodded, sadness lurking in his dark eyes. “So am I.”
“Did you love her or was it just a fling?” The question slipped out before I could hold it back. Grandmother had love for the duration of her marriage. She hadn’t taken another man to her bed since. At least that was what she told me, not that I needed to know. She loved Grandfather, for all his ruthless ways. It didn’t matter to her that he was a criminal. It didn’t matter to me that Santi was a criminal.
