Chapter 5 - The Family Reckoning"Dad," I said, straightening up immediately, my heart doing a nervous little flip.
My father walked slowly onto the terrace, his gaze shifting from me to Giovanni, taking in the relaxed posture of the most feared man in Chicago and the subtle way he positioned himself half a step in front of me, like a shield.
"Jessica," my father said quietly, stopping a few feet away. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Your mother is currently trying to calm down Sandra, who is having a minor hysterics attack in the bridal suite because your fake wedding announcement completely overshadowed her first dance."
I couldn't help a small, triumphant smirk. "Well, Sandra always did love stealing the spotlight. Consider it karma."
My father let out a dry, exhausted chuckle, then turned his full attention to Giovanni. "Mr. Fierro. I suppose I should thank you. I’ve wanted to wipe that smug look off Tyler Brooks’s face for five years, and watching him run out of here like a whipped dog was... therapeutic, to say the least."
"Call me Giovanni, Thomas," my father's age-peer replied with a respectful nod of his head. "And no thanks are necessary. I merely protected my wife."
My father raised an eyebrow, a slight smile touching his lips. "Your wife. Right. That’s a rather large narrative to spin on a whim, son. What happens on Monday morning when the headlines hit the Chicago Tribune?"
"The headlines on Monday morning will report that Giovanni Fierro has consolidated his personal life, and that anyone attempting to question the legitimacy of my marriage will find their business portfolios subjected to a very thorough, very public audit," Giovanni said smoothly, his tone leaving zero room for doubt.
My dad studied him for a long moment, looking for any sign of deceit, arrogance, or malice. After thirty years of teaching high school kids and raising two daughters, my father had an uncanny knack for reading character.
Slowly, the tension left my father's shoulders. He looked at me, his eyes shining with a sudden, unshed moisture. "You look happy, Jess. I haven't seen you look this light on your feet since before Tyler ran off."
"Dad..." I choked out, a lump forming in my throat.
"I don't care if it's real, if it's fake, or if it's some elaborate mafia fairy tale," my father said softly, stepping forward and wrapping me in a tight, warm hug. "You deserve to be treated like gold, Jessica. Not like an afterthought."
"Thank you, Thomas," Giovanni said quietly over my shoulder, his hand coming up to rest gently on my father's back in a gesture of solidarity.
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"Don't thank me yet," my dad pulled back, wiping a quick tear from his eye before fixing Giovanni with a stern, paternal glare. "If you break her heart, Mr. Fierro, I don't care how many buildings you own or how many guards you have outside. I taught American history. I know a few revolutionaries who knew how to plant car bombs."
Giovanni laughed—a rich, booming sound that echoed off the stone terrace. "Noted, Dad. I’ll make sure my life insurance policy is up to date."
