Unprepared Daddy: A Second Chance Romance

by Bella Winters

  Damn straight we’re rebuilding, I thought with a smirk as I opened the paper to the article and began skimming down the page. The photo accompanying the headline showed our flagship restaurant, Amoruso’s, with all of the wait staff standing out front and smiling. I grinned at the sight of the hostesses and waitresses in their short black skirts with tiny white aprons. When my father, Gianni, had founded the local chain, he’d decided that he was only going to hire the prettiest girls and make them wear the sluttiest uniforms possible. Forty years later, it was seen as a little jab against the nature of the politically correct world. But I enjoyed it. I’d fucked a lot of those girls in my day, and I didn’t plan on stopping. Just because I was thirty-eight didn’t mean that I was slowing down.

  If anything, I was starting to move faster than ever before.

  My father, Gianni, had been killed. Ten months ago, to the exact date, he’d been in a car driving to Jersey for a business meeting with the restaurant partners. He’d been killed instantly when a tractor-trailer crossed the highway median and hit his car, head on.

  I’d been devastated. At thirty-seven, I’d thought that I had years and years before taking over as the head of the Amoruso family business. But instead, I’d been catapulted into the spotlight and I was still recovering. I missed my father, but to tell the truth, I hadn’t had very much time to grieve. Death stops for everyone, and business can’t stop for death. While some people said it was shameful the way I’d moved on, the truth was that I couldn’t have stopped. If I’d even slowed down, the business would have tanked.

  And god knows, I couldn’t have that.

  I sighed, stretching as I reached forward for a piece of muffin. It had already cooled, but I didn’t mind. There was something satisfying and savory about the taste of salted butter on top of the crunchy surface. I closed my eyes and chewed for a long time, thinking of everything I’d have to wrap up later in the day. First, I had a meeting with my best friend, Silvio – my advice man. Then, I was going to drive out to Jersey and check out two of the restaurants.

  I smirked. There was a girl working at one of them – Cara, or Carina, or whatever the fuck she called herself – who was damn cute, and she’d been making cow eyes at me ever since we first saw each other. I’d been too distracted to try getting her alone, but today, I had a feeling that I wouldn’t be content until I left with her spit still clinging to my dick. I hadn’t had sex in weeks, and I was achingly horny. Most of the time, I called in girls to my home whenever I needed…release. But lately, I’d been so busy that I’d resorted to porn, stroking myself to the sight of three naked blondes licking each other’s pussies and moaning theatrically. It wasn’t as good as the real thing, but it had been a decent substitute.

  Taking a long drink of juice, I unfolded the rest of the paper and skimmed the article. I wasn’t worried about any negative press – the local paper was on our side, and I knew they wouldn’t print anything sordid or inflammatory unless we were in on it.

  The truth was, I wasn’t just a local business owner. Amoruso’s had done better than anyone in my family had ever expected – including my father. But while we slung pasta and “Italian” dishes at sloppy families, that wasn’t the only goal. The original restaurant had started as a place to launder money. We’d been a cheap takeout (cash only, of course) and my father Gianni hadn’t expected the venture to last more than six months. But to everyone’s shock, Amoruso’s chicken parmesan was such a crowd pleaser that in less than two years, my father and Silvio opened two more restaurants. The year after that, we opened four. Now, we had ten restaurants in New York and New Jersey combined, and we pulled in a solid sixteen million per quarter.

  Of course, all of that money didn’t come from chicken parmesan. But no one had to know that – even if some suspected. New York was full of crime family activity, and it was my job to make sure the Amoruso family did our part and kept our heads down. Most of our revenue came from dealing with shipping firms under the table. But there was a big problem right now, and it was starting to give me a headache.

  I hadn’t thought that I’d be tested this much in my first year of running the family business. Things hadn’t ever been easy. All ten restaurants had done poorly over the winter, because of snowstorms that kept people inside, and I was dealing with a real pig over at Magnate Shipping. Magnate had been our partner for years. The owner, Douglas, and my father Gianni had even been friends. But now, the owner’s son Michael was making a real big stink and I was going to have to think of something radical if I wanted to stay on top.

  I stood up and walked across the plush carpeting of my office. A small mirror by the door showed that my dark hair was beginning to grey at the temples. I frowned – I knew some women liked the idea of a silver fox, but I wasn’t even forty years old yet. I made a mental note to visit a hair stylist and have her do something before I went out to Jersey. If I wanted to get inside little Carina’s panties, I was going to put my best foot forward.

  My phone buzzed on my desk and I picked it up without glancing at the caller.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, boss,” Silvio said. “How’s it going?”

  I nodded stiffly, forgetting for a moment that Silvio wasn’t in the room to watch.

  “I’ve had better mornings,” I said honestly. “We need to figure out a way to deal with that prick over at Magnate. The most recent shipment has been held up for days, and unless I act soon, it’s staying like that for some time. We’re bleeding money, Sil.”

  “I know, I know,” Silvio said. “Look, I’m on my way over. I have some news.”

  The last word struck my chest with fear. “What news?”

  Silvio sighed. “I’ll be honest, boss,” he said slowly. “It ain’t good.”

  I steadied myself with a hand against the back of my desk chair.

  “Hurry up,” I barked into the phone. “I ain’t waiting around all morning just to hear some bad shit, Silvio.”

  “Of course,” Silvio said. “I’ll be there in five.” He hung up without saying anything else. Normally, Silvio’s brusque demeanor would have irked me. But today, all I could think about was how to get out of this mess. Ever since Douglas’s son had started working at Magnate, I’d had shit like this to deal with during almost every delivery. The Amoruso family smuggled cocaine, heroin, and ecstasy with the help of Magnate shipping…and I needed to make sure I was getting the money that I deserved.

  True to his word, Silvio showed up no more than five minutes later. I heard his heavy footsteps thundering through my home before his tentative, soft knock on the door.

  “Sil, come in,” I called loudly, sitting down in my chair and grabbing a pen and paper. Over the past year of leading the Amoruso family, I’d learned to conceal my nervous ticks pretty well. I still didn’t feel like the head of a crime ring, but I was learning. My father would be ashamed, I thought as I glanced down at my right hand. It was shaking.

  Silvio pushed the heavy office door and strode in, hands clasped in front of his wide belly. He was wearing a grey flannel suit with the first two buttons of his shirt unfastened. A tuft of silvery-grey hair stuck out, against the stark tan skin of his chest.

  Silvio leaned down in a respectful bow. He was my father’s age – early sixties –and because of a lifetime of drinking and partying, he looked it. He looked like he’d aged ten years overnight – especially around his eyes.

  “Boss, I’m sorry to tell you,” Silvio said heavily. “But we lost two men last night.”

  “What the fuck?” I narrowed my eyes. “What the fuck happened?”

  Silvio sighed. “I know,” he said. “We had men go over to Magnate, try to soften Douglas up. But Douglas stood firm – said you owe him somewhere in the neighborhood of a cool three million.”

  Blood inflamed my face and I glared angrily. “That’s fucking horseshit,” I muttered. “You know I don’t know that old man shit!”

  “I know,” Silvio said. He shrugged casually. “It ain’t abou
t that, Alessio. You know that as well as I do.”

  I glared at him. “Then what the fuck is this about?” I rolled my eyes, feeling anger tear through my body with astonishing precision. I felt like my veins were inflamed with rage, like I could tear a block of concrete in two pieces just because of the anger controlling me.

  “You know what it’s about,” Silvio said evenly. He met my eyes with his intense gaze and I didn’t back down at the black look in his eyes.

  “I don’t know what that fuckin’ means,” I growled.

  “He’s testing you, Alessio,” Silvio said. He shook his head sadly from side to side. “Your old man didn’t take no shit from Douglas, and now that Gianni’s gone, he’s tryin’ to mess with you. It ain’t about what you owe him or don’t owe him. It’s about him thinkin’ he can push you around to get a higher rate.”

  The anger intensified and I growled as the hair on the back of my neck stood up. Nothing made me angrier than knowing that someone was trying to fuck with me because they didn’t think I’d retaliate. I wasn’t my father – I was my own man, and Douglas Bennett was going to learn that as soon as possible.

  “We gotta do something,” I said, leaning forward and closing my eyes. I tried to think – how could I hurt Douglas? He was rich – even richer than me – and powerful. But he had to have a weak spot…

  “He just got a new wife,” Silvio said. He smirked. “Some bitch he bought from eastern Europe. She’s a real slut. You thinkin’ something to do with her?”

  I shook my head. “He goes through women like some people go through tissues,” I said dismissively. “That ain’t gonna be enough to make him take me seriously. Plus, it’s the most obvious option.”

  Silvio nodded. “What about a little…destruction of property?” His dark lips curled into a smirk. “You think he’d be hurting real bad if one of those warehouses suddenly blew up.”

  “No,” I said. “That hurts us, too. We depend on that asshole to get our stash. We can’t take the hit by shooting ourselves in the foot.”

  Silvio nodded. “You’re right,” he said slowly. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, boss.”

  I waved my hand dismissively through the air. The compliment was nice, but I wasn’t going to feel any better about this fucking situation until I had an answer ready to go.

  “Well,” Silvio said. “There is one more idea.”

  “I’ve got it,” I said suddenly. “He’s got a kid, don’t he?”

  Silvio smiled unpleasantly. “A boy,” he said. “Some kid named Michael.”

  I grinned. “How old is he?”

  Silvio shrugged. “Like I know? Maybe twenty-five, thirty. He ain’t that old.”

  My grin grew so wide that my cheeks ached.

  “Perfect,” I said.

  Chapter Two

  Beth

  “What about this?” Heather held up a mint-green silk chemise. “I think this would be pretty with your skin.” She held it against my pale arm.

  I wrinkled my nose. “I don’t know,” I said. “Green always makes me look kind of jaundiced, don’t you think? It’s these damn yellow undertones,” I added quickly. “I hate how I look right now!”

  Heather snickered. “It’s this damn lighting,” she said, pointing towards the ceiling. “You’d think a store like Bloomingdales would be able to afford something that doesn’t make us look like old hags. Why the hell am I even spending my money here, anyway?” Her voice grew loud with the last few words, and a sales associate glared daggers in our direction.

  I laughed too, blushing as the sales person glared even harder. “I don’t know,” I confessed. “Sometimes I think I’m just not cut out for shopping.”

  “Beth,” Heather whined, putting her hand on my shoulder. “You’re getting married in like, two months! You don’t have any lingerie! You’ve got to come up with something.”

  I frowned, walking over to a rack of red and black things made of lace. I held something up, staring skeptically at the scrap of fabric. It barely looked big enough to cover one breast, let alone my whole body.

  “I don’t know,” I said again, tucking the fabric back on the rack before Heather could swoop in and demand that I try it on. “I’m just not really feeling this today.”

  “We have to keep trying,” Heather said. “Come on, Beth. This isn’t that bad – just a little more, okay?”

  I nodded mechanically. “Whatever,” I mumbled. “I know I should be excited. I think I just have cold feet, or something like that.”

  Heather smiled encouragingly. “I’m sure that’s it,” she said slowly. “Come on, let’s go over here. They might have cuter stuff in the junior’s section.”

  I rolled my eyes but eventually, I turned on my heel and followed Heather through the bright fluorescent lighting of the mall. Shopping in a mall felt so dated – almost like I was back in high school. The faux-marble tile hadn’t been changed, and the silvery metal clothing racks looked as foreign and austere as they had before, when I’d been younger. Maybe shopping had been more fun then. But now, it just seemed like a chore that I couldn’t wait to get out of the way.

  “This is the way to live,” Heather declared. I wrinkled my nose – it was almost like she was reading my mind, and then choosing to ignore how I felt.

  “I disagree,” I said, shaking my head. “I hate this, it always makes me feel so uncomfortable! Besides, isn’t lingerie one of those things that’s really more for the bride than for the groom?”

  Heather grinned wickedly. “Andy doesn’t think that way,” she said snootily. She flipped through the racks, squealing and pulling out a matching purple silk bra-and-panty set. “He’d love this on me,” she said, holding the material against her shirt. “Don’t you think this would be hot?”

  I shrugged. “Lingerie is one of those things that always makes me feel more naked than actually being naked,” I said. “I always feel so awkward.”

  “You are so boring,” Heather said, rolling her eyes. “I swear, I bet you and Michael only do it in the dark!”

  Inwardly, I groaned. Heather was right – exactly, one-hundred-percent right – but I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing that. Michael and I had only been together four years, but we already acted like an elderly couple in the bedroom…a sterile elderly couple.

  When Michael and I had first had sex, it had been exciting. Not because it had been good – I wasn’t sure that I’d ever had anything I could label as “good sex.” But rather because I was finally doing it, I was finally doing the thing that seemed to drive both men and women of every age group. It had felt naughty to take my clothes off and lie beneath a man who was also naked, rubbing his body against mine. It had hurt, too, but that was beside the point – when I lost my virginity, I finally felt like a woman.

  And Michael wasn’t exactly bad, although for someone with more experience than me, I often wondered just what exactly I was supposed to be taking away from the experience. He’d had a few girlfriends before we got together – it made sense, he was six years older than me – but I never got the impression that sex was something that really drove him. It was more like a conquest – like something he demanded from me because I was his girlfriend. And then his fiancée.

  And soon, I’d be his wife. I’d be Mrs. Michael Bennett, one of the richest women in New York. The money was appealing to me – it would be a blatant lie to say otherwise. But mostly, if I was being honest with myself, I’d accepted Michael’s proposal because I didn’t know what else I was supposed to do. We’d been together three years at that point, a time which Heather eloquently referred to as “shit or get off the pot.”

  And then that pot came, in the form of a boring diamond solitaire from Tiffany’s, I felt absolutely obligated to say yes. After all, if I said no, wouldn’t that mean that I’d strung Michael along?

  We’d met when I was twenty-two, and fresh out of undergrad. I’d attended an open house at Columbia, thinking about grad school. Michael had been
there – he’d actually been with another girl, playing the part of a patient boyfriend while his girlfriend listened earnestly to the drone of the presenter. But as soon as she’d gone to get a glass of water, he’d walked over to me and handed me his business card. He’d been all of twenty-eight, and that had seemed exotic to me at the time. He was like, a real adult: someone with bills to pay and a car to drive and his own condo, that he made payments on.

  At least, that’s what I’d thought at the time. Michael had been dressed sloppily, and aside from the sterling silver Frank Lloyd Wright card case he’d been carrying, I hadn’t really thought anything about an obvious display of wealth. I’d thought he was just like everyone else. I was so naïve I didn’t even recognize his last name – Bennett – and tie him to one of the wealthiest families in New York.

  Michael had called every day for a week. I’d never picked up – I’d immediately regretted giving my number to a guy with a girlfriend, like I’d violated some ironclad rule of the female sisterhood. But finally, he left a message on my voicemail.