The hostess leads me to the table in the back corner of the glass-walled restaurant overlooking Central Park.
My dad smiles as I approach.
He looks…good.
Despite the absolute shitstorm about to land at his feet, he still looks every inch the power broker. Navy suit, perfect posture, not a strand of salt-and-pepper hair out of place.
But his eyes look tired. Like they know damn well what’s coming, and soon.
He stands when he sees me: I blink at that. He even pulls out my chair. I sit stiffly, more confused than comforted by these sudden attentive gestures.
“Hi…” I say.
He smiles faintly. “Hi, sweetheart. Thanks for agreeing to meet me.”
My God. I haven’t heard him call me that in years.
“You can thank Nico for that,” I say with a shrug. “He…convinced me.”
He really did. He told me that after his dad’s heart attack a few months ago, he couldn’t imagine having missed any chances to spend time with him. Granted, Vito Barone is an amazing, loving father. And my dad is—well, you know.
But still.
The server glides over and takes our orders—poached salmon over Greek salad for me, and, interestingly, a cheeseburger for my father. I gaze down at the tablecloth, picking the edge of my napkin, wondering who’s going to start.
“I know what’s coming,” he finally says, hands folded on the white tablecloth. “I’ve spoken to my lawyers, I’ve seen the files. I know what’s about to come out.” He pauses.
“Is this the part where you tell me none of it is true?” I say dryly, looking up.
Dad smiles sadly. Then, slowly, he shakes his head.
“I’ve worked with some bad people, Naomi. Really bad. I had only one goal, one vision.” He exhales through his nose. “The White House. The Oval Office. And nothing was going to get in my way.”
He looks out over the park, as if looking for the man he used to be.
“I told myself everything I did was for the greater good. For my legacy. For you. For the country. I sold it to myself a thousand different ways…” He pauses. “But the truth is, it was greed and ego. Nothing more.”
My stomach tightens, twisting.
“So no, Naomi, I’m not going to tell you it’s not true. Because most of it is. I bribed. I manipulated. I lied. I turned a blind eye to things I shouldn’t have. I turned myself into a man with no exit strategy.”
Something dark throbs inside of me.
“Including murder?” I ask quietly.
Dad frowns. “Pardon me?”
“The bad people you worked with…” I hesitate. “Did you ever condone or order murder?” I look away. “Or…sexual assault?”
I already know the answer to this. Nico’s already told me everything, how the former head of the Syndicate set up the bombing at Vito’s birthday in an effort to make the Barone family take out my father. That my assault was yet another tactic to hurt Leonard.
But these are the sort of people my father worked with. And I have to hear it from him.
I have to.
He’s silent so long that dread pools in me. But when I risk a glance back at him, his face is pale and horror-stricken.
“Christ,” he chokes out, looking away. “I really did fuck up if that’s what you think I’m capable of.” His head shakes decisively. “No, Naomi. God, no. I was never involved in anything like that. I need you to know that.”
I search his face. He’s not pleading. Not deflecting. He just looks…old. Honest.
And very tired.
His mouth twists.
“I was a bad father,” he whispers quietly.
I blink. “Dad—”
“No,” he interrupts gently. “Let me say it.”
He leans forward, the first signs of a tremor in his hands.
“I was cold and dismissive, and made you feel like you didn’t matter.”
I blink faster, my lips parting.
“It wasn’t a mistake.”
I frown. “What?”
“It was on purpose, sweetheart.”
It feels like a rock slamming into my chest.
“After your mother died, I saw what it did to you. I watched it hollow you out and break you. And I knew, with the people I worked with, the world I operated in—there wasn’t exactly a zero percent chance of me dying younger than expected, if you get my meaning.”
His voice cracks.
“So I made sure I wouldn’t be someone you’d mourn.”
I don’t speak at first.
I can’t. There’s too much in my throat and in my chest. In all the quiet spaces that used to ache for exactly this kind of realness from him.
“Dad—”
He’s out of his seat in a second and on his knees beside me, his arms around me, mine around him. I sob into his shoulder, clinging to him as all the years of heartbreak come rushing out all at once.
“Naomi,” he chokes, holding me tight as he strokes my hair. “I’m so fucking sorry, sweetheart. For all of it.”
We stay like that for several long minutes, until our tears are dry, and I’m just holding him because I’m realizing I’m going to be losing him for a while.
“How…” I swallow as he pulls back, then slips into the banquette to sit next to me. “How long will you…you know…”
He nods. “The lawyers say ten years. Maybe a little less, with good behavior.”
“And then?” I ask.
“Well, I’d say my political career is probably over.” He smirks, something old and familiar flickering in his expression. “Though these days, who knows.”
I laugh quietly. Sadly.
“Or… Who knows? Maybe I’ll write a damn book,” he adds. “God knows, I’ve got enough material.”
I don’t let go of the silence this time, and he takes my hand like it’s the first time in years he’s felt that he’s allowed to.
His palm is warm. Rougher than I remember.
“I’ve been a bad man, Naomi,” he says. “Greedy. Short-sighted. Selfish.”
He squeezes my hand.
“But I never once stopped loving you.”
Tears are slipping down my cheek before I can stop them.
“And I am so very proud of you.”
That’s the final straw.
I get up from my chair and wrap my arms around him as I sob against him.
