Chapter 3 - THE DAUGHTER HE NEVER KNEW
Salvatore arrived at the apartment the following afternoon.
Not with a convoy.
Not with armed men filling the hallway.
Just one driver waiting downstairs.
Griffin opened the door.
He stood in a dark overcoat, holding a small paper bag.
She frowned.
“What's that?”
“Bread.”
Griffin blinked.
“Bread?”
“Your mother used to like the sesame rolls from a bakery on Atlantic Avenue.”
Griffin stared.
He looked embarrassed.
“I didn't know what else to bring.”
She stepped aside.
Roman was sitting upright when Salvatore entered.
For several seconds, neither moved.
Then Roman whispered, “Sal?”
His face crumpled.
“Romy.”
Griffin watched her mother begin to cry.
Salvatore crossed the room.
Stopped beside the bed.
And slowly knelt.
“I thought you were dead,” Roman whispered.
He took her hand.
“I thought you left me.”
She shook her head.
“I would never.”
Salvatore closed his eyes.
For twenty-two years, he had believed the woman he loved had betrayed him.
He'd been told she'd taken money from his family.
That she'd disappeared with another man.
That she'd wanted nothing to do with him.
Now he understood.
Vittorio had lied to them both.
Roman touched Salvatore's face.
“You're alive.”
He kissed her hand.
“So are you.”
Griffin stood in the doorway.
Her heart pounded.
Then Salvatore turned toward her.
He studied her face.
Her dark eyes.
Her stubborn chin.
The little scar near her eyebrow.
And suddenly he saw himself.
Not in the way strangers sometimes resembled one another.
In the way a father recognizes something that belongs to his own history.
He looked at Roman.
“Griffin?”
Roman nodded through tears.
Salvatore stood slowly.
He looked at the young woman.
“How old were you when she told you about your father?”
Griffin swallowed.
“She said he died before I was born.”
Salvatore's expression broke.
He turned toward Roman.
“She thought I was dead?”
Roman nodded.
Salvatore looked back at Griffin.
Then whispered, “I'm sorry.”
Griffin stared.
“For what?”
“For every birthday I missed.”
Her eyes filled.
He continued.
“For every school play.”
She looked away.
“For every time you needed someone and I wasn't there.”
Griffin's voice trembled.
“You didn't know.”
Salvatore nodded.
“I know.”
He swallowed.
May you like
“But I'm still sorry.”
For the first time in twenty-two years, Griffin Miller looked at a man and wondered whether he might be her father.
