Chapter Thirteen
When she got home that evening, she mentally steeled herself and asked to speak with her mother after dinner, alone. Once they were settled in the small living room and the door was closed, Emmi finally asked.
“I need you to tell me about when you met Papa. When you found out who he was and what his family did.”
Her mother smiled and settled back in the armchair. “I’ve been wondering when we’d have this conversation. I ran into him, literally. I was coming out of a store in town, and he wasn’t watching where he was going. Apologizing led to talking for half an hour, and that led to dinner that same evening.”
“That’s a cute story, but when did you find out what he did?”
“Once I knew his last name and told my parents, I discovered his questionable past. My father had him investigated, and things didn’t quite match up. So I asked him, and he told me.”
“Just like that?”
“Yes. Just like that.”
Emmi leaned forward. “And? What did you think?”
“I thought it didn’t matter. I fell in love with your father before we left the sidewalk in front of the store where we met, Emmi.”
Of all the things her mother could have told her, that was not what she’d expected to hear. “You’re kidding.”
“Of course I’m not kidding.”
“But how did you reconcile it? How did you keep from believing if you were with him, you’d burn in hell for accepting the things he’s done?”
“Do you really think it’s any different than hostile takeovers? Or finding loopholes in a case so you win it in court, even if your client is guilty?”
Jesus. “You can hardly compare either of those scenarios with a conscious decision to kill someone.”
“Are you so sure about that? Hostile takeovers put people out of jobs. They ruin families and force them to drastically alter their way of life within a short time, often without the necessary resources to do so. You grew up rich. You haven’t got a clue what it means to live paycheck to paycheck, or not to have any paycheck coming in.”
“So did you.”
“Yes, but your father did not. He’s the one you should be talking to. Ask him what your grandfather’s childhood was like, and then you might understand why hanging out with the gangster kids down the block was the only way he could survive.”
Emmi swallowed hard. She’d never thought about it from that perspective before.
“And let’s talk about attorneys. Suppose when you become one, you decide to work for a criminal defense firm.”
When she opened her mouth to protest, her mother put up a hand. “Let me finish. You have a client who is a physician. This physician is guilty of malpractice, but you find a weakness in the prosecution’s case, and the jury doesn’t convict him because of it. Because of your skill in court. But there’s a dead child, and now that family will never have justice for their loss. Who really wins in that instance? Is getting your client off the hook for murder better because it was your job to try to do it?”
“My job would be to defend him, not get him out of a murder conviction.”
“So would you not use the weakness, then? If he found out you knew about it and didn’t use it, you could end up disbarred for not properly defending your client. You would definitely be fired for not using it.”
Well fuck me sideways. Her mother had just nailed her. Emmi smiled. “You should have been a law school professor.”
“I’ve been paying attention when you talk about your classes, Emmi.”
“Okay. But you could have married anyone. Not necessarily a man who is in Mergers and Acquisitions, or defends guilty criminals for a living. There are tons of honest professions out there.”
“Yes, there are. But I didn’t fall in love with a man who is in one of them. I fell in love with your father.”
“I’m not in love with Digger.”
“Are you sure?”
The question, asked without any hint of emotion or judgment, and spoken in such a soft voice, hit Emmi with the force of a hurricane. Was she in love? Did it show? Had she always been drawn to Digger, but hadn’t acted on it because of Sam? Was she using his lifestyle as an excuse to avoid her feelings?
Suddenly, the upcoming dinner on Friday took on way more significance than any time she’d spent with Digger so far.
****
By the time Emmi drove to Digger’s apartment Friday night, the conversation with her mother had played over and over in her mind. In addition to that, Leslie had, as predicted, told her if she didn’t marry Digger next week she was an idiot. She reminded Leslie that he hadn’t asked, to which Leslie advised her to ask him.
Digger would love that. But Emmi wasn’t here tonight to talk about marriage. She was here to see if the magic held up on his home turf. There was no one here to put on a show for, or to watch for a reaction. It was only the two of them.
The smell of peppers and clam sauce hit her as soon as he opened the door. “My God,” she said, taking a deep inhale. “You really are cooking it yourself.” Emmi recognized the lingering scent of olive oil in the air. She’d know that smell anywhere.
“Of course I am. Come on in.”
She’d never been to Digger’s apartment. He lived like a king, but that didn’t bother her. So did her entire family. His condo was on Riverside Boulevard, on the Upper West Side, and when he’d bought it, it had boasted nine bedrooms, seven bathrooms, views from every direction, and a terrace complete with a private, outdoor pool. The place was almost as large as her parents’ home.
“This is incredible, Digger,” she said, as he gave her the tour. Even though the condo had a dedicated library on the main floor, he’d turned one of the upstairs bedrooms into an office. He’d also made a workout room out of the two downstairs bedrooms, by knocking down the wall and combining them.
“That still leaves five bedrooms, plus yours. What do you plan to do with all of those extra rooms?”
“This one,” he waved a hand to usher her inside, “is for my antique weapons collection.” Emmi stood in the center of the room and slowly turned around to get the full effect. She’d never seen so many swords or crossbows together, outside of a museum.
“Interesting hobby.”
“Well, I am in the business.” He winked.
“Ever use any of them?’ Were they really having this conversation?
“No. These are strictly for show. My preferred method includes not leaving any obvious traces of the weapon I used.”
A shiver ran down her spine, more because she was genuinely curious now than from what he’d said. “How do you do it then?”
“Do you really want to know?” She could hardly blame him for sounding skeptical.
“Sure.” She’d listened to her father talk about worse all her life.
“Well, I prefer to make things look like an accident. No cops investigating that way.”
Her pulse raced as the snippet of dinner conversation from two weeks ago came back to her. “You mean like people falling in the tub?”
When he averted his gaze for a second, she knew her suspicions about that incident were true. “Yeah, well, that was a special circumstance.”
“That you did have something to do with it.”
Emotions crossed his face in rapid-fire succession, from indecision to resignation. She understood the degree of trust necessary for him to admit it, especially considering he’d obviously lied to her father that evening.
“Never mind,” she said. “You don’t have to answer me.”
“I want to.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But you need to understand something, Emmi. I made a pact—a vow—never to talk about it.”
“Well, don’t go back on that just for me.” Vows were too important. She didn’t want to be party to something that could get him killed.
He pulled her close and cupped her face, sending desire racing through her. Yeah. It was the sex, but not only that. The way he looked into her eyes wasn’t the way one looked at a woman he merely wanted to fuck and nothing more.
“Emmi, there isn’t anything I have that I wouldn’t share with you. Don’t you know that?”
She thought he was going to kiss her, but instead he released the embrace. “I don’t want dinner to be ruined.”
“Then let’s go and eat.”
Everything was perfect, and she’d have expected nothing less from him. He’d made all her favorites. Linguini with white clam sauce, roasted peppers, and a salad with fennel, arugula, black olives, cherry tomatoes, and celery hearts. There was bread which he admitted he’d bought from a nearby bakery that morning, and Frangelico for the espresso after dinner.
“And we have Bacione di Taormina for dessert.”
“Oh my God. I haven’t had that in ages.”
“I didn’t make that, either.”
She took a bite. “Oh. Wow. Talk about a mouth orgasm.”
He laughed. “I’m glad the food has seduced you.”
“Digger, everything you do and say seduces me.”
His gaze grew serious. “Really?”
“Yeah. Really. I can’t thank you enough for this dinner. It’s heavenly.”
“You’re heavenly. Having you here is heavenly.”
They gazed into each other’s eyes for long moments, and the spell was only broken when his cell rang.
He snatched it up and frowned. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I have to take this. Business.”
“Go on.”
He left the room and she couldn’t hear him speaking, which was fine with her. But now she wished she’d cultivated friendships inside her parents’ circle. Emmi had gone out of her way up until now to avoid getting close to anyone associated with her family or what they did. But right now, that’s exactly who she needed to confide in. Someone who had been there and would understand what she was feeling. Someone who could help her make sense of all this.
When Digger returned, she asked him if everything was okay.
“It’s fine.” He ate while she watched him for a few seconds, debating how far to push this.
“How old were you when you first killed someone?”
He didn’t even flinch, merely put down his fork. Another nasty shiver ran down Emmi’s back. “Sixteen.”
Holy shit. “Tell me about it.”
“Why?”
“Digger, if you want us to be together, I need to understand this from your point of view.”
“Your father has killed people. You’ve always known that.”
“That’s different. He’s my father. I wasn’t given a choice to hear about it. What my father does is also the reason I’m going to law school. It’s the reason I haven’t gone to work in his organization, even though he’s offered. It’s the reason I defied him and my mother for twelve years with Sam.”
Saying that last part out loud hit home in a way it never had before. Her relationship with Sam had been one of rebellion to begin with, love later on. But it had started out as something she knew they disapproved of, and she hadn’t cared. In defying them, she’d taken another step away from everything they stood for.
As it had the day in the restaurant, she couldn’t help wondering if the real reason she’d stayed so long with Sam was because she wanted to change her life completely from the one she’d been born into. So why, then, hadn’t she gone to California with him? She could have finished law school there.
“You loved Sam.”
“How do you know? You barely saw me once I graduated from high school.”
“I saw you often enough to know what you felt for him was real.”
He might be saying that to make her feel better, or it night be true.
“I don’t love him now.”
A bittersweet smile graced his handsome face. “I’m glad to hear it.”
“Would you rather we not talk about this?”
“If you need to, I want to talk to about it.”
“Digger, I’m so confused about things.” It didn’t seem odd to be sharing this with him, which surprised her, but also comforted her. “I started off seeing Sam knowing they didn’t like him. I kept seeing him because of that.”
“Do you think he was part of your rebellion over the entire lifestyle?”
She nodded.
“And now you’re feeling guilty over that?”
“Yes and no. Guilty because whatever I was doing with him to spite my parents, or to try to break free of who I was born to be, has spilled over into this. Into us.”
This time, his smile was filled with relief. “And you don’t like that now, do you?”
She had to swallow hard as tears threatened. “No. I don’t.”
He took her hand and kissed the back of it in a sweet, old-fashioned gesture that reminded her of her parents. “Told you.”
“Told me what?”
“You’d come around.”
Emmi couldn’t help returning the smile. “And you were right. But I still want to hear about the first person you killed.”
“He was just some punk who hadn’t paid Donny’s boss at the time. Donny was with me when I made my bones. He’s ten years older than me and had already made his. I guess you could say he was my mentor.”
“So it was a Mob hit.”
“Yeah. Single gunshot to the back of the head. Neat and clean.”
“There’s nothing neat or clean about a gunshot wound.”
“The hit was clean.”
“Only because no one ever finds out who does those kinds of hits.”
“Sometimes they do, if the person is sloppy.”
“How did you end up going out on your own?”
He frowned and took another sip of his espresso before answering. “I had some trouble with Roberto di Stefano over a job I pulled for him. Donny had to get involved. After that, I decided I didn’t want to be aligned with any families in particular. I only did the job in the first place as a favor to your father.”
“He used to be friends with that family, but he no longer is.”
“I know.”
While she sipped her espresso, Emmi gave him a quick glance, debating whether to ask again. She might as well. There was nothing to lose at this point. “Is that why you and Jimmy Vaccaro killed di Stefano?”
“We didn’t kill him. He and his girlfriend fell in the bathtub. Tragic accident.”
“Bullshit.”
“Why does it matter to you?”
“I told you. I’m trying to understand this from your point of view.”
“You also told me not to go back on that vow just for you.”
Touché. But now her curiosity had been piqued. “Why would you make a pact over an accidental fall in a bathtub?”
“If we did it, it certainly wasn’t because of something he did to me fifteen years ago.”
“What was it for, then?”
“You know he put out a hit on Donny, right?”
“Yes.”
“That’s a good enough reason, isn’t it?”
“He’s had a lot of people killed.”
“And he’s had attempts on his life before.”
“This one didn’t fail, and it has your MO all over it.”
“I take care of my family.”
“We’re your family, too.”
“But Donny is blood. He and Jimmy are the only blood relatives I have left. Your family isn’t blood. Not yet anyway.” He leaned over and kissed her. “Not until we have children.”
“What will you tell them when they ask what you do for a living?”
“The same thing your father told you, Emmi.” His voice was gentle, and it finally hit home. The pieces fell into place. He was part of their family, and she had accepted everything her father did without question. If she was to give this a fair shot, she had to accept what Digger did, too. It made no sense not to.
When he kissed her again, fireworks went off inside her head. It was real. All of it. The sex, the confusion over her feelings for him, and the things she wanted to do with him. The way in which she wanted to get to know him better. It hadn’t only been the circumstances of the blizzard. She was drawn to this guy. She could fall in love with him if she let it happen. And right now, Emmi no longer thought that was such a terrible idea. Not at all.