Fall For My Ex’s Mafia Father

Chapter 0355

Janeen does whatever she wants, as usual. She doesn’t really need the money anymore — none of us do — but she still takes up shifts at Crabby Dicks, the crappy beach strip club where we had our wedding reception, whenever she wants some extra cash, or needs to dance, or just desires some male attention. Sometimes she stays out all night, sometimes she’s home, but she’s always here when I need her.

Dad is a more constant, quiet presence. He’s been retired for years, though, so he knows how to entertain himself. Sometimes he goes back to the city to hang out with his old buddies, but most of the time he’s here with me as I hunch over the kitchen table, reading through legal paperwork, and histories of mafia families, and chess manuals.

“You getting anywhere with this, Fay?” he asks, a couple of weeks into the process when I’m weirdly studying Machiavelli's The Prince alongside some of the international shipping maps that Daniel brought home from work.

I sigh and sit back, looking up at him. “I’m honestly not sure, dad,” I say, running anxious hands through my hair and piling it messily on top of my head.

“Can I do anything to help?” he asks and I take a deep breath and smile up at him.

“Maybe order a pizza?” I say, hopeful. Dad he laughs and goes to make the call. I dig eagerly into the greasy hot pizza about an hour later, absolutely starving. Because that’s how I am these days — just constantly hungry and constantly snacking to keep the nausea away.

moment that I stepped into

wondered whether I was pregnant, because I couldn't

went the

middle of the night one night, green to the gills, and rushed to my bathroom to barf up absolutely everything in my stomach.

which no one has yet protested — is to keep snacks in

put a little mascara on my eyelashes. I turn

it is. But my sister just laughs at me and puts it

around me and to

Baby doing

being a little chagrined. “Wish she'd lay off the nausea trigger a little bit, though.

make her pay it back to us on her twenty-first birthday,” Janeen says, grinning and giving me a big kiss on the cheek. “Make her barf so much she needs bathroom snacks to

head at her. “You need to stop calling the baby a she, Janeen,” I say, grinning. “We still don’t know, and you're going to confuse both me and yourself — and potentially the baby, if it ends up being a