Caterina
“I guess my daughter’s too wrapped up in her important job to notice her old man sitting right across from her.”
The words hit me like a slap, jerking me out of my mental spiral where I’ve been replaying Luciano’s dead-eyed stare from this morning on repeat. My fork clatters against the plate.
“What?” I snap my head up so fast I nearly give myself whiplash. “Sorry, Dad. I didn’t—what did you say?”
His eyes narrow, that detective stare that’s put God knows how many criminals in interrogation rooms sweating through their shirts. Right now, it’s trained on me, dissecting every micro-expression, every nervous tic I’m trying desperately to suppress.
“Are they working you too hard at the firm?” His voice softens, but the concern bleeds through—thick and suffocating. His brows furrow in that familiar way that simultaneously makes me want to hug him and scream. “Because you look like you haven’t slept in days, sweetheart.”
If you only knew.
I force my lips into what I hope passes for a reassuring smile. “No, Dad. It’s not work.”
“Then what is it?”
“I’m just tired.” The lie tastes bitter. “Didn’t sleep well last night, that’s all.”
He leans back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest. Still wearing that damn shirt and tie even though it’s his day off. Always the cop, even when he’s trying to be just my father. “You’ve been pushing your food around that plate for twenty minutes. That’s not tired. That’s distracted.”
Shit.
“I’m fine. Really.”
“Is Luciano not treating you well?” His jaw tightens, and I watch his hand curl into a fist on the table. “Because I can have a word with him. More than a word, actually.”
The mention of his name sends ice water through my veins. I flinch—actually physically flinch—and Dad catches it. Of course he catches it. He catches everything.
“Uhhh, things are…” My brain short-circuits, frantically searching for words that won’t detonate this entire conversation.
How do I explain that I blocked my ex’s number after he called ten times before dawn on Saturday? That I thought cutting off contact would make him disappear, like some modern-day ghosting would actually work? That instead, he showed up at my coffee shop on Sunday morning, standing in line behind me with murder in his eyes and a latte in his hand?
“Having problems with your phone?” he’d asked, loud enough for half the café to turn and stare.
“No,” I’d replied, sugar-sweet and venomous. “The block feature works just fine.”
Someone had actually snorted with laughter. The humiliation on his face had been beautiful—for exactly five seconds, until I remembered that embarrassing Luciano was apparently a terrible idea.
Because now he’s everywhere.
Monday morning, leaning against the bus stop shelter outside my office building, arms folded, watching me like a predator tracking prey. Not saying a word. Just… watching.
My skin crawls just thinking about it.
“Caterina.” Dad’s voice cuts through my internal panic. “Are things all right between you and Luciano?”
No. Nothing is all right. I’m staying with a man twice my age who fucked me while my ex listened on the phone, and now said ex is apparently stalking me, and I’m one bad decision away from a complete meltdown.
“Actually, Dad…” I take a breath, choosing my words like I’m defusing a bomb. “I’m glad you brought him up. Things aren’t going well. At all.”
His expression shifts—something knowing flickers behind his eyes. “Finally. Now we’re getting closer to the truth.”
My heart stutters. “What the hell does that mean? Do you know something I don’t?”
“Luciano stopped by the house yesterday.”
The floor drops out from under me.
I will kill him. I’ll actually fucking kill him.
Suddenly, the pasta I had for lunch is threatening to make a violent reappearance. Bile claws up my throat. Because if Luciano went to my father’s house, if he told him anything—anything—about the club, about the phone call, about Gianni…
I will die. Right here. Right now. Just cease to exist.
“What—” My voice comes out strangled. I clear my throat, try again. “What did he say?”
Dad’s expression softens, and somehow that’s worse than his interrogation face. “He told me you dumped him a few weeks ago.”
Oh thank God.
“And I have to say, sweetheart, I’m a little hurt.” He shakes his head, disappointment etching lines around his mouth. “I know you’re an adult. I know you have your own life. But I thought we were closer than this. Since when do you hide things from me?”
The guilt hits hard and fast. “I wasn’t hiding it from you, Dad.”
His eyebrow arches. *Really? That’s what we’re going with?*
“Okay,” I amend, because lying to a detective is pointless. “Maybe I was avoiding the conversation. But not because I don’t trust you. I just… I had a lot going on. I didn’t know how to—”
“Breakups are hard,” he interrupts gently. “Especially first love. You shouldn’t have to go through something like that alone, sweetheart. I know I’m just your old man, but I’d help however I could.”
My throat tightens. “Did he… did he tell you why I dumped him?”
His jaw sets, fingers drumming against the table in that slow, deliberate rhythm that means he’s pissed. “Whenever a man says it was ‘all a misunderstanding,’ it usually means it was *not* a misunderstanding, and he’s just a cheating piece of shit.”
I can’t help it—I smile. “Yeah. He did it to himself.”
“I figured as much.” Dad’s voice drops, going cold and dangerous. “That’s why I told him to get the hell off my property and never come back.”
Tears burn behind my eyes, unexpected and fierce. I blink them back, laughing it off. “You did?”
“What kind of father do you think I am?” He looks genuinely offended. “I wasn’t about to invite him in for beers and a heart-to-heart. He cheated on my little girl. Broke her heart. He’s lucky I didn’t load the shotgun and chase him across the yard.”
“Dad—”
“I’m serious. The only thing that stopped me was knowing you’d never forgive me for the legal fees.”
I laugh, real and genuine this time. “See? You do listen to me.”
He waves a dismissive hand, but he’s smirking now. “When you know the people I know, legal fees don’t matter much anyway.”
Great. Now he sounds like Gianni.
“I assumed he showed up because he wanted me to talk to you on his behalf,” Dad continues, his voice hardening again. “Like I was going to help that idiot earn you back. Not happening. Not after what he did.”
The relief is so intense I could cry. “Thank you. For having my back.”
“Always, sweetheart. Always.” He reaches across the table, squeezes my hand. “But we need to talk about where you’re living. He said you moved out.”
Fuck.
“I’m staying with a friend from school.” The lie slides out smooth as silk, and I’m almost impressed with myself. “Her roommate left for the summer, so I’m subletting the room.”
He takes a long sip of coffee, studying me over the rim. “And after the summer?”
“Funny you should ask.” I sit up straighter, grateful to have a real answer for once. “I have an appointment to look at a studio apartment after work. It’s walking distance from here, actually. Small, but I don’t need much space.”
“I should come with you.” It’s not a suggestion. “You know how landlords are with young women. They see an easy mark—”
“Dad. I’m twenty-three years old with a college degree and a job at a law firm.” I keep my voice gentle but firm. “I have to do these things on my own.”
He grumbles something under his breath, staring into his coffee cup like it holds the secrets of the universe. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
The server appears with the check—perfect timing—and Dad hands over his card without looking.
As he signs the receipt, I study him. Really look at him for the first time today. The shadows under his eyes are darker than mine. His shoulders carry a weight I don’t recognize.
“You look exhausted,” I tell him, turning the tables. “Do I need to call your captain and demand he give you some time off?”
He laughs, but it’s hollow. Forced. “I’m fine.”
“Bullshit.”
His eyes snap to mine, surprised.
“You grill me about my life, but when I ask about yours, you shut down?” I lean forward. “That’s not fair, and you know it.”
For a moment, something dark crosses his face—something that makes my stomach twist with worry. Then it’s gone, replaced by that careful cop mask.
“I’m on the verge of breaking something big,” he finally says. “I’ll tell you everything once it’s safe.”
“Safe?” My pulse quickens. “Dad, what—”
“Trust me, sweetheart.” His voice drops low, urgent. “Just trust me on this one. When I can tell you more, I will.”
The intensity in his eyes stops my questions cold. Whatever he’s working on, it’s serious. Dangerous, maybe.
He stands, helping me with my coat like I’m still twelve years old. “I want you to call me the second you finish looking at that apartment tonight. I want every detail. Address, neighborhood, proximity to the nearest police station—”
“So you can have a patrol car parked outside?”
“You know me too well, sweetheart.”