said.
He hesitated a fraction of a second before nodding.
“Sure.”
He could feel her watching him as he walked up the hallway.
His father was in his favorite chair, the seat reclined as far as it could go, the Italian-language newspaper, Il Globo, spread across his belly. Dom watched him sleep for a moment, noting how old his father looked without his larger-than-life personality to distract from the new wrinkles in his face and the sag of his jaw. Age spots had appeared on his hands in the past few years and the gray in his hair was turning white. He was fifty-nine and still he woke every day at 5:00 a.m. to tend the stall at the market, despite the fact that they could easily afford to hire staff to cover the early shift.
Stubborn bastard.
“Pa,” he said quietly.
Tony started, the newspaper rustling. He frowned, jerking the chair into the upright position.
“Was reading newspaper,” he said.
Dom gestured back toward the kitchen.
“I dropped in to see Mama for a bit,” he said.
Tony nodded. “Good, good. She worries when she not see you.”
Conversation dried up between them. Dom felt the silence acutely. He and his father had had their moments over the years, but he’d never felt as distant as he had recently.
He cleared his throat. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. Lucy Basso was looking for an investor in Market Fresh, so I’ve bought in. We’re partners.”
“What is this? Partners? How can you be partners with another business when you have Bianco Brothers?”
“It’s not a full-time gig. At the moment, at least. When things pick up, I might have to rethink. But in the meantime nothing has to change.”
His father’s face reddened. “You work for me! You always work for me.”
“I’m not resigning, Pa. I’m just exploring other opportunities.”
His father glared at him for a long moment.
“This is because of computers.”
“I want to make my own business successes,” Dom said, sidestepping the issue.
“After everything I give you, everything I do for you. You tell me this, no discussion, nothing.”
Dom refused to feel guilty. He had a life to live, too.
“I’m not a kid, I don’t need to ask your permission.” He felt like he’d been saying that a lot lately. “I just thought you’d like to know what was going on.”
He headed for the kitchen. His mother looked up from spooning biscotti mixture onto a tray when he entered.
“Listen, I have to go. But maybe I could come around for dinner during the week?”
His mother frowned, then her gaze slid over his shoulder.
“Bianco Brothers is for you. For all my children. And you throw back in my face,” Tony said from the doorway.
Dom saw his father’s hands were shaking and his eyes were shiny with tears. Dom rubbed the bridge of his nose and reached for patience.
“What am I supposed to do, Pa? I have a business degree, I have ideas, but you won’t listen to any of them. So either I sit around and suck it up and stew in my own juices, or I do something for myself. I chose Option B. You still have Vinnie and the rest of the staff. There’s nothing I do that they can’t.”
“What is going on? What is happening here?” his mother asked.
“Dominic is leaving business,” Tony said, his chin stuck out half a mile.
Dom raised his eyebrows. “That’s not what I said.”
“What do you call when you buy another business?”
“I’m a partner. Lucy will still run it. I’m just helping out. I promise this won’t be a problem, okay?” he said. “Look, we can talk about this more tomorrow at work.”
When you’ve had a chance to cool down and think instead of react.
He turned to his mother.
“Save some biscotti for me,” he said. She nodded absently and kissed him good-bye.
Out in the street, Dom took a deep breath, then let it out again. He’d done it. It hadn’t been pleasant, but it was over.
The look on his father’s face flashed across his mind. He’d looked betrayed. Hurt. Baffled.
Dom started to run, lengthening his stride with each step. Soon he was breathing heavily, sweat running down his chest and spine.
He refused to look back, and he couldn’t stand still forever. His father was going to have to come to terms with his decision. And if he didn’t … well, they would cross that bridge when they came to it.
LATER THAT EVENING, Rosie stood in the kitchen making spaghetti with meatballs with her husband. As usual, he was cutting the onions because they made her howl like a baby and she was mashing the canned tomatoes in the saucepan.
“Do you think it would be wrong for me to invite Dominic Bianco to the Women’s Institute fund-raiser next week without telling Lucy first?” she asked during a lull in their conversation.
“Why would you do that?” Andrew asked.
“Because if I tell Lucy, she’ll tell me not to invite him.”
“Okaaaay,” Andrew said, frowning. “Why do I feel like I’m missing a vital part of this conversation?”
“I think Dom likes Lucy.”
His eyebrows rose toward his hairline.
“She’s pregnant,” he said.
“So?”
He clanked a frypan onto the stove.
“You’re serious? You need me to explain?”
“It’s happened before in the history of the world.” Rosie was aware she sounded defensive. Was she the only one who saw the potential here? “Lucy is still gorgeous and fantastic. Would it be any different if she was a single mom and she met a guy?”
Andrew looked confused for a minute as he thought it over.
“Yes. And I don’t know why, it just is. Pregnant women are for protecting and admiring, not lusting after,” he said unequivocally.
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