Fall For My Ex’s Mafia Father

Gifts

Chapter 25 – Personal History–1

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, 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

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

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

he says, grinning at me with confidence. “This happens all

of my guards says, again tugging at my arm.

you!” I call back to – wow,

says, waving to me as I go.

I clutch the photo album in my hands, not yet ready to open

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

little, taking off my coat and handing it to the waiting housekeeper. “Why didn’t you tell me I had

wanted you to have the pleasure of getting to know Tristin Alden all on your own. Tell me,

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

harder at that, shaking his head a little. Then, his eyes light on

my arms and looking down at the little leather–bound

interesting,” he says, but thankfully he doesn’t push it. “Dinner in twenty minutes,” he calls after me as I head up the

B

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Gifts

25 – Personal History–2

nod, but don’t look back at

and page through the album. It’s

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 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

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

I

even though he could have just pushed her