The Don's Widow Carries His Heir novel · Chapter 21 of 24

Chapter 21: Accounts

I took my foot out of the car.

Nick didn't close the door. He stood behind it.

Antonia was already in the back seat. She didn't get out, but she rolled the window down.

My father came two steps closer and stopped.

"I didn't know," he said.

"You didn't ask."

"Lia..."

"You told me I make pastries."

He flinched.

"You sat in the family pew with her at his funeral. You left his mother a seat by the wall."

"Your mother thought..."

"You came to my door the night before the vote and asked me to step aside so she'd have something too."

My breath was coming out white in the cold.

"She had my dress, Daddy. She had it on tonight. You watched her wear it."

He put his hand over his eyes.

He stood there under the streetlight and cried, the ugly way, the way my mother had on my sidewalk.

I'd never seen him cry.

Not at his own father's funeral. Not ever.

I waited until he was done.

"What do you want?" I said.

He took his hand down.

"I want to be your father," he said. "I want to see the baby. I want..."

He couldn't finish.

"Okay," I said.

He looked up.

"Not like this. Not in a parking lot in Cranston." I put my hand on my stomach. "There are twenty-three women on the Hill who didn't get their rent in October, because of what your daughter did."

"And because you and Mom told everybody I was lying."

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