Page 170 of My Mafia Queen

Two bottomless pits of money.

This very thought had fueled his fury for so many years, and now, he can finally get some of that cash back.

Damaso has been more than generous, offering him enough money to buy a nice house in LA, and everybody knows how expensive those are.

Getting all that cash and not having to deal with us anymore?

That’s double yummy for my father.

No wonder he listens faithfully and does everything Damaso asks of him.

Tina wears her best dress and sits on a chair in the kitchen, away from our father.

Her eyes glint in the morning light, and her hair is neatly brushed back, falling over her shoulders.

Her eyebrows are slightly arched in anticipation, and a faint smile colors her gaze.

She can barely contain her happiness.

Her suitcase has seen better days, but she couldn't be more proud of this memorable moment.

She’s been collecting the pictures of the dogs she wants to adopt, and now she’s bargaining with me to get a kitten as well.

Life hasn’t looked better for her, and the events of last week are in the rearview mirror and out of her mind.

She never wanted to talk about the time spent in the basement of the house where Joe Lizard sent her.

Damaso told me about the conditions they’d found her in.

She is a brave girl, but I wouldn’t want that to happen to anyone, especially a twelve-year-old.

They released her from the hospital the same day, which was good news, and once she found out the days of living with our father had finally come to an end, she simply erased the memory of those nights spent in the basement from her head.

Damaso said that we, the Leto sisters, are strong and easily adjust to the most difficult circumstances.

I don’t know about that, but there is some truth to his words.

I didn’t think much about what happened in that house.

The only thing I regretted was that I couldn’t get to Jen on time.

As it turned out, I made the right decision to come back to LA. We’re all alive. Jen, Tina, Damaso, and me. Vito and also Salla’s men.

Had I stayed in that hotel, maybe things wouldn’t have turned out how they did.

I’m glad I listened to my intuition, and I think I proved to Damaso I’m worthy of him.

“That’s it,” Damaso says, placing a small bag on the table.

He collects the document and hands it to his lawyer, who seems oblivious to the bag of cash on the table.

“We’re good?” he says to his lawyer, who nods and leaves the room. “Anything else?” he asks, shifting his eyes to me. “Do you want to say anything to your father?”

Resting his elbows on the table, my father moves his gaze to the window, unwilling to look at me and talk to me.

“No. I think that’s it,” I say.

And that is my last snapshot of my father. Sad stories have trivial endings all the time.

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