Fall For My Ex's Mafia Dad

Chapter 0042

Willingly, I follow Jerome and my other guard out of the room and into the hall. The three of us scurry

towards the door, guilt roiling in me to be the cause of so much strife. Before I step out the door, Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org exclusive © material.

though, I hear a little voice call out behind me.

“Wait!” it says.

I turn to see Romulus running down the stairs, a little book in his hands. He dashes to meet me at the

door. “I found this in my closet!” he says, “a long time ago!” He holds up the book to me and I can see

that it’s a very small photo album. I take it from him gently and flip it open, shocked to see that it’s

images of my mother’s wedding day –

And, oh my god – that I’m in them –

“That’s you, right?” Romulus says, peeking at the pages of the book, pointing at the picture of my

mother.

“No,” I say softly. “That was my mom. Thank you for showing it to me, Romulus,” I say, looking down at

him gratefully. I push it back towards him, as the noise escalates in the next room. I hope that some

day I’ll be able to look through it more closely, but now, it definitely seems like time to go -

“No, I you can keep it,” Romulus says, smiling up at me. “And maybe, when you come back, you can

bring me a present.” He gives me a big smile and I can’t stop myself from laughing.

“A fair trade,” I say and then jerk up, suddenly, at a crash I hear from the sitting room.

“You’d better go,” he says, nodding at me.

“Will you be okay?” I ask, looking over his shoulder.

“Sure,” he says, grinning at me with confidence. “This happens all the time.”

“Miss,” one of my guards says, again tugging at my arm.

“Okay,” I say, following my guard. “It was nice meeting you!” I call back to – wow, to my little brother.

“You too!” he says, waving to me as I go.

As I sit in the car on the way home, I clutch the photo album in my hands, not yet ready to open and

explore it. What the hell was I going to find inside?

Kent is waiting for me as I come back into the house. “Well?” He asks, smirking at me as he leans

against the wall in the entry. “That was a fast little family dinner.”

I glare at him a little, taking off my coat and handing it to the waiting housekeeper. “Why didn’t you tell

me I had a step-mom?”

He laughs then, low. “I wanted you to have the pleasure of getting to know Tristin Alden all on your

own. Tell me, how long did it take her to kick you out? Five minutes? Ten?”

“More like three,” I say, wrapping my arms around myself, the photo album pressed against my chest. “I

indicated that I recognized the sugar bowl and she…didn’t like that. Said I was stealing her kids’

inheritance.”

Kent laughs harder at that, shaking his head a little. Then, his eyes light on the photo album. “What’s

that?” he asks.

“Photos,” I say softly, unwrapping my arms and looking down at the little leather-bound book. “Of my

mom’s wedding.”

“Very interesting,” he says, but thankfully he doesn’t push it. “Dinner in twenty minutes,” he calls after

me as I head up the stairs. “Considering Alden didn’t feed you.”

I nod, but don’t look back at him as I climb.

When I’m alone in my room, I sit on my bed and page through the album. It’s shocking to me, how

much is familiar and how much is a mystery.

I’m just a toddler in the pictures, so I guess it makes sense that I don’t remember any of it, but even at

a glance I can tell how precious I was to my father on this day. He had me standing at the altar with him

as he said his vows to my mother, a hand on my little shoulder as I looked out to the crowd.

Then, there’s another photo of their first dance with me crying, my arms wrapped around his leg,

unwilling to let go. Both of my parents are laughing in that one, pleased, I can see, by my attachment to

them – to him.

Then another, with my father feeding me a piece of wedding cake, laughing as I get icing all over my

face. My heart sinks as I bear witness to the love on his face on that day, his happiness at being able to

share it with the woman he loved as well as his child.

I suppose it really was a love match, then - my father and my mother. They had me first and, even

though he could have just pushed her aside for someone else, he had married her, recognized me

officially as his daughter.

My lips begin to tremble as I look through picture after picture of my parents’ joy, their love for me, and I

feel incredible shame that I don’t remember any of it –

What must it have been like, just a few weeks ago, for my father to walk into that room to see me again

– his little girl – and see that I had no idea who he was? That I had completely forgotten him?