“That was very nice of him.”
“My mother didn’t think so. She didn’t want me to have anything to do with him.”
“Well, that’s not unusual in divorces, right?”
He stared at her a moment before shrugging. “I guess so. I don’t have a lot of experience in that area. Anyway, I heard almost nothing from him for four years, but each year, the tuition was paid. Then when I graduated, I got a telegram saying that he’d purchased an airplane ticket for me to visit him in New York to celebrate.”
She couldn’t imagine where this story was going, but she wished he’d hurry up and get to the end of it. Maybe then she’d know what was going on—what had him so upset.
“My mother was furious, but I went anyway. She said my stepfather would try to get me to work in his business, and once I signed on, I’d have sold my soul to the devil himself.”
“That’s rather harsh, don’t you think?” Confusion overshadowed her curiosity. “Is that what you think? I mean, obviously Howard Hughes isn’t your stepfather since you’re close to his age, so you didn’t go to work in the family business, so-to-speak, right?” She laughed softly but sobered quickly when his jaw tightened and his index finger tapped a Morse-code cadence on his knee.
The clock ticked several times before he continued.
“Please let me finish this next part before you ask questions or jump to any conclusions.” It was almost a plea. When she shrugged and nodded, he continued, “I doubted my mother. She said he’d try to use me, but I couldn’t imagine Vince doing such a thing.”
A chill ran down her back even as a silent prayer winged heavenward that the wounded man mentioned in the newspaper wasn’t his stepfather. Vince Giovanni. She asked divine intervention that this wasn’t what had John upset. But she had to know. “W-was your stepfather one of the men shot in New York last night?”
He hesitated, then nodded.
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” She leaned over and placed her free hand on his thigh. “He’ll be all right, won’t he?” How horrible that his stepfather was part of organized crime and now injured.
The thumping in her chest began to ease, but John slid his hand from hers, leaned forward, and braced his elbows on his thighs, his hands clasped together. Again, ignoring her question, he continued.
“The problem is that my mother was right. He—Vince—didn’t exactly ask me to join his business, because, after all, my degree is in engineering and useless to him. But exactly like my mother predicted, he did ask me to do him a little favor. I saw no harm at the time, but now, I realize I can’t live with the arrangement as it is. I need to come clean and tell you everything.”
Me?
She leaned back slowly, one hand gripping the material of her skirt while reaching up the other to rub against her chest above her heart. “What do I have to do with this whole thing?”
“If your mother were alive, she could explain it better, but the bottom line is…”
John turned slightly and reached out to reclaim her hand, his skin warm and inviting as she released the cotton material and linked their fingers.
“…she married Vince when she was about twenty.”
His words slammed into her with enough force to render her helpless and leave her floundering. He had to be joking—but his eyes were serious.
Her breathing became shallow and fast as her mind raced with possibilities, silently screaming for her to run fast and far. She locked her jaws to stop them from chattering, but tightening every muscle in her body couldn’t stop the trembling—or the rest of the message.
“Honey, Vince Giovanni is your father.”
“No!” She jerked her hand away as she lurched up from the sofa to put distance between them. “I don’t believe you. My father was a policeman. Shot and killed on the job. My mother would never lie to me. Never.”
She turned her back on him, shaking her head in denial of his preposterous statement. Why was he doing this? She cared about him—even loved him—and he was ripping her heart to shreds.
A tear rolled down her cheek and then more. She bowed her head, more tears breaching the dam that now failed to hold back the flood that cascaded down to drip off her jaw onto her favorite dress.
No.
She flinched when strong arms came around from behind to wrap her in warmth. “I can’t…can’t…”
“Honey, I know it’s a shock, but it’s the truth. He’s kept track of you since you were born, making sure you had everything you needed. But for your safety, he allowed you and your mother to remain here, living under her maiden name.”
His words hovered in the charged air surrounding her quivering body, then settled in to be absorbed and digested. When she no longer struggled for freedom, his arms relaxed.
Then another thought struck. How would he know any of this?
She stepped away from his touch, turning to glare with enough wattage to light the room, her voice monotone. “Were you sent here to watch me? To spy on me? Was that the favor you were talking about?”
John took a deep breath, rolled his shoulders then shrugged. “Since I was going to be out here anyway to work for Hughes Aircraft, he hoped I’d be willing to let him know if you needed anything. But I’ve never reported anything to him about your comings and goings,” he added quickly.
Surprising.
All she heard was the thundering of her heart. “But you would have called that man if, for instance, I’d lost my job and was unable to buy food. Right?” Without waiting for an answer, she tightened her hands into fists and lowered her chin, even as she glared at him. “That’s why you buy the food I cook for our dinners. You’re working for him. You’re helping him interfere in my life. Then you tell me some trumped-up story and think I’ll believe it’s the truth. Well,” she spat, shaking her head, “you can forget it.”
“No. That’s not how it is.”
He started forward but halted when she retreated a step, only stopping when her legs bumped into the coffee table and her mother’s picture fell to the floor with a crash.
“Oh, no.” She glanced around at the broken glass then turned back to John, focusing a lethal glare at him like a gun pointed at a target. “Thanks a lot. That’s the only picture I have of her, and now the glass is broken.”
“Hannah, I’m sorry.” He moved forward, but she held up a hand, palm out, effectively stopping him in his tracks.
“Just stay away. You’ve done enough damage already.”
“Please believe me, I never wanted to hurt you. And as for the food, I asked you to cook because I like to eat home-cooked meals. It had nothing—and I mean nothing—to do with Vince.”
She tried, but failed to stop the new flood of tears. “I don’t believe you. You’re one of them…and you’re lying. But what I can’t understand is what you hoped to accomplish. I don’t have anything.” She shook her head, reaching a hand out like a stop sign when he stepped toward her again. “Just leave.” Intending her demand to be forceful, she cringed when it whispered out, weak and lifeless.
“Hannah, please…”
Her tear-filled glare stopped whatever he intended to say. She had thought of him as a good, clean-cut young man working hard to get ahead in life. Now, she saw a cunning mobster, maybe even a murderer. How could he be part of something like that and then lie to her about why he was showing her so much attention?
With a heavy heart, she faced the facts. He’d lied—not once, but over and over. She had trusted him, had been falling in love with him, and he’d betrayed that trust.
Hannah pointed toward the front door. “Leave.” Please, Lord, get him out of here before he sees me totally break down. Please.
John’s eyes pleaded, but she remained defiant. When he finally turned and silently walked from the apartment, his whole body slumped as if carrying the world on his shoulders.
She didn’t want to believe a word he said, but…
“If he is telling the truth about my father, then I fell in love with a
mobster, the same as my mother,” she whispered, choking on the last word. And it meant her mother had lied to her.
No, I won’t believe it. I won’t.
She sank to the floor, leaned over until her face was buried in her cotton skirt, and wept.
Chapter Twelve
Hannah knew there was no use going to bed—sleep would be impossible. After crying herself dry, she stooped beside the table, and with a gentle touch, took the picture from the frame and shook the tiny slivers into the trashcan. A folded piece of paper fell with the shards of glass.
“What’s this?” The mumbled question accompanied a tight frown as she unfolded the note.
Hannah, my precious and loved daughter,
If you’re reading this, then I guess I’m gone and you’re alone in the world to face all the challenges and make the decisions that we used to make together. I know you’re able to take on that task—forging the path of your life—but I also know that it’s so much easier when you have someone at your side to lean on. I had that for a short while but then chose to walk away from all that was familiar and strike out on a new and uncharted path.
“What is she talking about?” Her hands shook, the world becoming unbalanced at her mother’s confusing words. “She didn’t choose to face life without Dad. He died.” She frowned, but continued to read.
I was twenty when I met your father. He was thirty-four, educated, had a fancy job, and money to spend on me, and I fell head-over-heels in love with him at first sight. I know that sounds silly, but it’s true. We had a whirlwind romance and married a few weeks later. Your grandmother wasn’t happy about the marriage, but we eloped, so there was nothing she could do about it. I’ve always hated that she was still angry with me when she passed away.
Now comes the difficult part for me to write, and I know it will be even harder for you to read. Please try to understand, and please don’t hate me.
“How could I hate my own mother?” She whispered the question, then mashed her lips together and kept reading.
When I married your father, I didn’t know what he did for a living. I thought he was in banking or something similar since he always wore a suit. Rereading that sentence, I realize just how much in love and just how naïve I was back then. It took almost a month for me to finally get suspicious. He left home at odd hours of the day and night and was always being picked up and dropped off by other men in suits who drove new sedans. Who has that kind of money at such a young age?
Then one night, we had a big, nasty fight, and I demanded to know if he was cheating on me. I told him he had to tell me what was going on, or I’d walk out the door. To this day, I wonder if it might have been better to just live in ignorance…but I had to know. That’s when he told me he was a lieutenant in a mafia family that dealt in gambling and horse racing.
Like lightning on a stormy night, a chill shot through her body, leaving raised bumps on her arms and her teeth chattering. She sank back onto the floor, leaning against the chair while she clenched her jaws together. The words blurred on the page as tears welled up.
John was right?
No.
She closed her eyes and allowed the tears to trickle down her cheeks, no longer trying to hold back the pain of knowing her mother had lied to her—for years. Her blind trust had been betrayed.
The wall clock ticked away the minutes as she huddled, allowing a lifetime of lies to wash over her. A faceless policeman in uniform. Her mother, smiling and happy. The front page picture where two men lay dead. The images flashed in the dark void behind her eyelids, each one leaving her more lost, disillusioned…alone.
When the clock chimed the quarter hour, she slowly opened her eyes and lowered her gaze to the damning piece of paper now resting on her lap. She swallowed, wiped her face, and blinked several times to refocus on her mother’s familiar, flowing script.
I didn’t believe him at first. I thought he was teasing—then I prayed he was joking, but he confessed to keeping me in the dark about his job. He figured I wouldn’t understand.
He was right. I was furious, and we fought like a cat and dog shut up in a small room together. He apologized, and I eventually forgave him. Silly, but I was crazy in love with him.
Then, a few months later, I thought I might be pregnant but didn’t say anything at first. I wanted to visit the doctor and know for sure. I wanted to plan something special for when I told him. But your father didn’t come home that night, and my fancy surprise dinner was ruined. I tried to wait up but eventually fell asleep. It wasn’t until the next morning that I found out his boss had been killed at a restaurant the previous afternoon, and he had narrowly escaped out a back door.
Overnight, everything changed. Your father was now the new don, and everyone was murmuring condolences to him and kissing his ring. I’d never been so frightened in my life. Would he be next? Would I see his picture on the front page of the newspaper lying dead in the street?
Her heart pounded. John was telling the truth. The frown deepened, and her grip on the paper tightened.
There I was, pregnant and scared out of my wits. What was I going to do? What if the mob attacked while I was in the car with him? What if my child was killed in the deal? I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t focus. It didn’t take long to know I had to get away—I had to leave the state and go where I could disappear in the crowd. That was the only way I knew to keep you safe. Two weeks later, I slipped out in the middle of the night and took the train here to Los Angeles.
I named you Hannah Marie Montgomery, using my maiden name. My original plan was to never tell you about your real father, but I’ve agonized over the years about taking this secret to my grave. It’s not that I’ve had a change of heart—I still don’t want you around your father—but guilt is a lonely bed partner. I know you’ll wonder why I made the choices I did, but it’s difficult, if not impossible, to put my turmoil into words. I can’t even fully explain why I’ve chosen to write this down, but if you ever find my notes, I pray you’ll at least try to understand why I had to keep you away from him. You have every right to hate me, but please forgive me for all the lies over the years.
I love you so much,
Mother
Hannah squeezed her hand into a fist, crushing the paper. Was this all a sick joke? Her mother was saying her father was part of the mafia. If only she could refuse to believe, or wake up from this nightmare, but with every word, it confirmed what John had told her. She thought back to the newspaper article. If it were true, one of those horrible men was her father.
The thought chilled her skin from head to foot. It really didn’t matter which one, but John had given her a name. Vince Giovanni.
She lost count of the times the wall clock bonged the half-hour and then the hour. Finally, cold and numb, her energy nearly depleted, she rose from the floor and stood in the middle of the living room. What had once been a safe haven was now almost unrecognizable in the hazy fog of her mind. She stood and turned in a circle, staring at all the familiar things, feeling empty, detached, and lost.
Without consciously focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, she dragged her body into the bedroom and sank down on the edge of the quilted covering. Her hands slid across the knotted squares, then curled into fists to grip the material and hold on while her body trembled.
Did she want to know any more details? No. Could she ignore what she’d read and what John had told her? No. Should she accept it and just move on?
How can I move on without knowing for sure what’s real and what isn’t?
Her father was really still alive? She shook her head, fighting against reality. Sadly, she admitted the answer. Yes, he is. She lifted a hand to press against a suddenly tight chest. Mafia. Her breaths now came quick and shallow, each one a desperate struggle to survive the overwhelming feeling of being crushed under a heavy weight. Pain like she’d never known before radiated across her chest, leaving her tense and gasping for air.
Calm down.
Breathe in…one, two, three. Breathe out…one, two, three.
Gradually, she relaxed, reluctantly beginning to accept her mother and John’s explanations.
In total defeat, she lowered her chin until it rested on her chest. With eyes closed, she wept out all the pain of years without a father, but the lifetime of lies her mother had told were the arrow that truly pierced her heart.
****
John’s world was imploding. He’d heard the clock strike midnight while he lay in bed, exhausted after hours of thinking about Hannah. Even the normally simple task of rolling over had become a chore.
His mind refused to allow the temporary peace of sleep, even though he was mentally exhausted. If only he could go back in time and make different choices—if he could just relive the past couple months. Numb, he lay staring at the ceiling, listening to the alarm clock’s faint ticking sound documenting the seconds, minutes, and sadly, hours.
He replayed the evening over and over in his mind, wondering if he could have—should have—handled the situation differently.
He couldn’t blame Hannah for being upset and not wanting to believe him, but sooner or later, she’d have to realize he’d told her the truth. After analyzing the evening several times in his mind, he realized it hurt that she thought he would ever be involved with the mafia and all the illegal things done by the various different families.
Did she really think he could kill a person?
John gave up trying to sleep and got out of bed. Pacing the cool floor even felt good at this point. While he warmed a cup of leftover coffee, he gave in to the internal struggle to stay as far from Vince and his organization as humanly possible. He was running low on real milk but poured a small amount in the mug and carried it with him to the phone in the hallway. He had to know if Vince was still okay and safe at home under protection. Within minutes, the call was connected.
“Hi. It’s me. How’s he doing?”
When Truth Takes Flight Page 13