Page 85 of Working for the Mob

“Why not?”

“It’s in Italian.”

“You know, I’m familiar with Italian. By no means would I call myself fluent, but I could get by in Italy if I needed to.”

“No,” I cut in. No gift from my father came without strings.

“It would only take me a few minutes. I’m sure I could figure it out,” he said.

“That’d be lovely,” Lucy said, from between orders.

“Lucy, get back to your customers,” I said, crossly. “Dad, the café’s for paying customers. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Then let me buy something,” he said, and reached for his wallet again.

“There’s a line, Dad,” I said, and pointed to the back of the café.

“Fine. Then dinner. Tonight,” he said, and I groaned.

“I’ll go if Lucy can go,” I said, and I knew I had him. He wouldn’t agree to eat an entire meal with Lucy.

“Deal,” he said, surprising me. He must be serious. “Is there even a restaurant in town?”

“There’s a restaurant down the street,” Lucy said, and looked as excited as a kid on Christmas morning. “Gouda’s.”

My dad smiled victoriously. “Seven o’clock. Sharp.”

This day couldn’t get worse.

At least the stove worked; the water was already at a boil. I grabbed a coffee pot, tied the cheesecloth around the top, filled it with grounds, and trickled boiling water across the top.

I dreaded returning to the front, with a crowd of expectant customers. Instead, I brought my nose to the coffee pot and inhaled deeply––even after working at the café for a month, the nutty nodes still relaxed me. With a full cup of coffee, I could face anything … or anyone.

I grabbed the pot, put on my best smile, and entered the dining area.

Chapter 25 – Genevieve

For the only restaurant in town, Gouda’s didn’t have many customers. The café easily did three times the business that Gouda’s did, and that was on a slow day.

The eatery clearly pushed for ambiance, with dark lighting, lacquered wood, and checkered tablecloths.

Only a few tables held customers, and my dad’s blonde hair stood out at once.

“Can I help you two?” the hostess asked us, with a smile that perfectly mirrored the opposite of how I felt.

“I think someone already grabbed us a table,” I said, and pointed to the man who looked like there was nowhere he would rather be. I grabbed Lucy’s arm, dragged her past the ditz hostess, and plopped into the chair across from my father.

“Let’s get this over with,” I said. Lucy even settled herself down.

“Come now, Genevieve. Can a doting father not treat his two girls to a nice dinner without being accosted like that?” he asked.

“I’ve heard they have a great steak,” Lucy said, with her menu already open.

“I’ll pay for myself, thank you,” I said, and switched to a hushed tone. “And ‘doting?’ Please, it took you weeks to find us.”

“What did you expect me to do? Hire a private investigator to track you down? Your mother and I have been worried sick about you.” I raised my eyebrows and glanced at Lucy, perusing the menu, and he started as if he had just noticed she sat there. “Both of you.”

I rolled my eyes. Something Old Genevieve never would have done to my dad. I didn’t see it until a few weeks ago once I got some separation from him, but his head stayed up in the clouds––never able to see the things right in front of him.

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