Chapter Three
Digger had known Emmi all her life. He even remembered when she was born, though he’d only been eleven at the time, and wasn’t much interested in the newborns of his parents’ friends. By the time he was a senior in high school and she was seven, her quick temper and animated expressions had kept him laughing.
With three older sisters to watch over her, Emmi had been spoiled rotten. Still was. They indulged her, and as a result, she’d grown up believing she could get away with anything. But she was also an intelligent, determined woman.
She was the only one of the four daughters earning a post-graduate degree. And a law degree at Columbia University, yet. She also had dated Sam Fargate all through middle school and high school, despite her parents’ strong and frequent objections to the young man.
Digger had met Sam once, and that was enough to secretly agree with Emmi’s parents that he wasn’t good enough for her. Though, he’d never tell her that. She had to come to that conclusion on her own, and he was determined to help her do so. He would have her, but she had to give herself to him because she realized how right he was for her, or it wouldn’t mean anything.
All her life, others told her what she should do, what was good for her. And she’d always done her own thing anyway. Now, she’d decide on her own that what was best for her was Digger. He was certain of it.
He’d been in love with her all his life, if he was being honest. When she turned eighteen and he was twenty-nine, he’d told her he was going to marry her one day. He’d made it seem like he was only kidding around, but he hadn’t been.
She’d looked at him like he’d just suggested she marry a lizard. The timing had been wrong, the age difference still too noticeable to a girl fresh out of high school. It was no longer that noticeable.
At thirty-five, he still looked as fit and healthy as a man her age because he took care of himself. And now that Sam was out of the picture, he had his chance. Finally. Emmi would be his. Digger knew it as surely as he knew what had really happened to Roberto di Stefano and the unfortunate Bess McFarland.
“I thought we’d have coffee and dessert in the small living room,” said Teresa, Emmi’s mother. Her rising signaled the end of the meal. Digger loved coming here, but had to resist the urge not to laugh at Teresa’s formal ways. It was difficult at times to imagine she and Tony getting together, as she was the one with the money, and he was as blue collar and rough as they came.
Anthony LoPresti might now be head of one of the last surviving organized crime families in the country, but he had come from humble beginnings. Teresa, on the other hand, had been raised in a completely different world. Even this house belonged to her. It had been in her family for five generations, if you counted her grandchildren as one of those.
It boasted ten bedrooms, plus a wing for the staff. There was an outdoor pool and an indoor one, a workout room that rivaled any gym in Manhattan, tennis courts, garage space for fifteen vehicles, and gardens that were meticulously kept. A private beach gave way to stunning views from the south and east sides of the home.
Why Emmi had instead chosen to live in an apartment in Greenwich Village with Sam for the past six years was beyond Digger’s understanding. She gave the reason as not wanting to deal with the commute from Long Island, but that was bullshit. She could have lived in the dorms. She could have maintained an apartment in the city by herself and come home on weekends and school breaks. Her parents would have happily paid for it.
He managed to snag a seat near her in the living room, although it didn’t escape his attention that she’d gone out of her way to try not to be near him. It didn’t bother him that she avoided him. She’d always done that. But Sam had moved to California, and he wasn’t coming back. The bastard had actually forced her to choose, and she’d stayed here, where she belonged.
That spoke volumes about Sam, as far as Digger was concerned. It also convinced Digger that he was the one meant to be with Emmi for the rest of her life. Not the idiot wannabe musician.
“Why does everyone call you Digger?”
Vicki’s question pulled him from his reverie. Victoria was Anna’s and Michael’s daughter. At seven years old, she reminded Digger so much of Emmi at that age it was spooky.
“Because I like to dig holes.”
She giggled, putting a hand over her mouth. “You mean like at the beach in the sand?”
“Yes. Exactly.”
“Mommy, I wanna be called Digger because I like to dig in the sand, too.”
Anna gave him a droll look before turning her attention toward her daughter. “The name’s already taken, Vicki. You’ll have to think of another one.”
“But I want that one!” She crossed her arms and pouted, but when no one reacted, she moved onto the next thing, as seven-year-olds will do.
“Was I that annoying at her age?” asked Emmi.
“You find her annoying?”
“Watch her with her cousins for a moment and tell me she’s not a little shit.”
Jacob and Jamie, the eight-year-old twins of Nicole and Doug, were playing a game on their tablets. When no one paid attention to Vicki’s assertion that she wanted to be called “Digger”, she wedged herself in between her cousins and tried to get them to let her play, too.
“You can’t play,” said Jamie, with the exasperation only an eight-year-old boy can adequately voice. “It’s only for two people.”
“I have a tablet. Make it for three people.”
“It’s not a game for three people,” said Jacob. He was the more patient of the two. But when Vicki wouldn’t leave them alone, they got up and walked away from her. She began to cry, loudly, and Digger had to work hard not to laugh.
“See what I mean?” asked Emmi.
“She’s lonely here. She only has boys for cousins, and they don’t want to play with her. You had three sisters. You always had someone to play with.”
“Leave them alone,” said Anna, addressing her daughter. “Read your book instead.”
“I don’t want to read a book.”
Digger put down his plate and coffee cup. “Vicki, come over here. Tell us about second grade.”
At first, she looked dubious. But after a few seconds, during which she probably realized she wasn’t going to get her way with the game her cousins were playing, she walked over and sat across from him and Emmi.
“We learned about dinosaurs last week,” she said, with as much enthusiasm as she might voice while talking about watching paint dry.
“That sounds great,” said Emmi, “but tell us about the most annoying girl in your class.”
Vicki’s eyes brightened up as she pivoted her body toward her aunt. Digger couldn’t help chuckling. The two were soul mates, though neither one realized it. While he only half listened to Vicki prattle on about some girl named Julia, Digger kept his attention focused on Emmi.
She didn’t realize it yet, but she’d make a great mother. Emmi spoke with Vicki like she was a friend, not a little girl. She wasn’t condescending, and didn’t speak to the child in the ridiculous voice most adults used when addressing children, as if they were incapable of understanding speech unless it was high-pitched and sing-song.
Sam’s influence had kept Emmi from realizing her full potential. Digger was determined to break that wide open and help this extraordinary, beautiful woman become everything she wanted to be. And he’d be right there, by her side, to help her every step of the way. She belonged to him. Always had. Nothing less than having Emmi … body, heart, and soul, would satisfy Digger.