Fall For My Ex's Mafia Dad

Chapter 0050

Tristin turns her eyes to me as soon as I am seated, the baby in her lap looking up at me curiously.

“Hello, Fay,” she says, her face cold. But hey, at least she’s talking to me.

“Hi,” I say, giving her as bright a smile as I can manage. Romulus peaks around her to give me a happy

wave, which I return.

My father, on Romulus’ other side, turns to me as well. “We wanted to apologize, Fay, as a family. For

the events at our house yesterday.”

“Oh, please,” I say, waving a hand to dismiss it. “Don’t worry about it. I understand that it’s…awkward.

That I’m sort of a new addition, and that I screwed up some of your plans. I’m…sorry about that, by the

way.” I look into Tristin’s face as I say it.

“Not a new addition, Fay,” my father says, looking at me steadily. “A love one returned to us after a long

parting.”

“Yes,” Tristin says, her voice low and rehearsed. “You are a member of this family.” Her eyes flick to

Kent and Daniel then, and I wonder why.

The rest of the dinner proceeds a little blandly. The food is good, the chitchat a little dull. I get a lot of Nôvel(D)rama.Org's content.

family history, then, with Alden showing me pictures of my grandparents and telling me about their

journey to America from Italy.

I look at the old photos curiously, trying to see pieces of my features in their faces. I’ve never really

considered, before, that I’m actually Italian. I never thought much about my ethnicity, but with my red

hair and pale skin, Italian had never popped into my mind. I glance quickly at Kent and Daniel – with

their dark skin, thick black hair, and roman noses, they look Italian.

“Thank you so much for showing me these,” I say to Alden, handing the pictures back to him. “I’m

learning so much about myself these days.”

“And you have so much more to learn,” he says, giving me a warm smile, which I return.

The party goes quite late, with everyone drinking and chatting. At some point, a DJ comes out and

begins playing the oldies that this crowd apparently favors – lots of Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin. It’s

not a bad time, overall – even Daniel is laughing and chatting around.

Only Kent seems to be having a poor time – or, at least, not a good one. He’s very stern, always

glancing around the room, looking over everyone who comes to say hello. I purse my lips, considering

him as he looks critically over an old woman who introduced herself as my great aunt. Does he ever

have a good time?

Kent feels me watching him and turns his attention to me, raising his eyebrow.

I shrug at him and shimmy my shoulders, encouraging him, without words, to try to loosen up and have

a good time. He smirks at me and then looks away, continuing his surveillance.

Too serious, I think, getting up to get another drink. Kent stands to go with me, but I put out a hand to

stop him.

“Really,” I say. “I’m just going to the bar for a glass of wine.” I indicate the alcove in the wall where the

bar is stationed, only a few feet away. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

He hesitates and then settles back in his chair. “I’ll be right here,” he says. I nod and briskly step away.

A younger set of people are standing by the bar chatting. They raise their glasses to me as I sidle up.

“Welcome to the family, cousin,” a tall guy with closely-cut black hair and broad shoulders says to me.

“We’ve missed you.”

“Really?” I ask, nodding to the bartender who hands me a glass of wine. “Um, are we really cousins?”

“Sure,” he says, laughing. “I’m Michael, this is Chris,” he says, indicating the slightly smaller version of

himself next to him, “and our sister Amy.”

“Oh,” I say, raising my brows. “Wow, it’s really nice to meet you.”

“Not quite cousins,” Amy says, leaning in familiarly to talk to me. Her words are just a little bit slurred –

not sloppy, but I can tell she’s had a couple of drinks. “We’re second cousins! Your dad is our mom’s

cousin, which means,” she screws up her face in thought, thinking, “we have great-grandparents in

common.”