The Capo’s Daughter Needs No Permission Chapter 23
I looked at Ava.
“I only want to ask you three things.”
“The night of the French restaurant, did you know I wasn’t in the car when you left?”
She pressed her lips together.
“We were almost late for the reservation. Your father’s men couldn’t keep the car waiting at the curb.”
“The night of my surgery, did you know it was me calling?”
“I didn’t know you were that sick.”
“And when the education fund money was used to buy that bag, did you know the money belonged to me?”
She said nothing.
I nodded.
“That’s enough.”
Ava shot to her feet.
“You were always smarter than me. Your grades were always better.”
“You were born with everything—parents, a brother, the Vitale name. Even your teachers were on your side.”
“I had nothing. The Ferraro Family only protected me because my parents were dead.”
“All I got was a little bit of their love. Why did you have to take that away, too?”
I looked at her.
“I was never trying to take their love for you.”
“I was just refusing to keep using my money, my opportunities, and my own safety to help them prove they were fulfilling their obligation to you.”
My mother covered her face.
The anger on my father’s face froze.
Marco stared down at his hands.
My twenty minutes were up.
I stood and pushed my chair back under the table.
My mother clutched the metal box.
“You’re not taking it with you?”
“You earned this.”
I shook my head.
“It never bought me anything.”
I went back to the counter.
The argument started up behind me almost immediately.
My mother told Ava to sell the Gucci bag.
Ava cried that the bag had been used and she could never get the full price for it.
Marco asked her why she had claimed she would return it right away.
My father asked my mother why she had forged my signature on the fund documents.
My mother’s voice suddenly rose, sharp and raw.
“You were sitting right there in the living room!”
“You’re the capo. Without your silent approval, do you think I could have touched that check?”
“Every single one of you saw it. And not one of you stopped me.”
The metal box hit the floor.
Hundreds of permission slips scattered across the tile, all of them landing with the black seal facing up.
I heard it.
But I didn’t look back.