The Mobster’s Daughter Sneak Peek

Saturdays had few visitors to the Bartoni house. When Alexandrea went down to the kitchen at noon, Brett was sitting at the black granite countertop eating a bowl of oatmeal and raisins and reading Sports Illustrated. He had on his usual dark blue suit, but today, his tie was neon orange.

"Did you go color blind this morning?" Alexandrea asked after he mumbled an oatmeal filled 'Mornin.'

He swallowed and grinned. "I thought this was your favorite color. You should appreciate this. I figured that after yesterday you could use a pick me up."

She grabbed a bowl from the white cabinet next to the Sub Zero fridge and shook some Honey Bunches of Oats with almonds into the bowl and poured in soy milk. "He said he will think about it," she huffed as she sat next to him.

"Uh huh," he stuffed another gooey mouthful and returned his hazel eyes to his magazine. If he wasn’t so old, he might be cuter. His hair was a wavy chestnut brown on top, faded down the sides. He often kept a close shaved beard which accentuated his high cheekbones and thick pink lips. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and his necklace caught the light. Saint Christopher, the Saint of Protection was resting right under the knot of his necktie. She had never seen him without it.

"I'm workin' him," she whispered to herself. She wondered if her father was awake.

After a few shovelfuls of oatmeal—he didn't have the best table manners—Brett put down his magazine and looked at her in earnest. "I know this is difficult for you to understand, but your father means well. I haven't had a vacation since I took you under my wing, it would be nice to go camping. I used to love it. Did I tell you that I used to hunt."

Groaning, Alexandrea picked up her bowl, "Spare me," she growled as she exited the kitchen and made way for her room.

Was everyone against her growing up and moving out? Did everyone see her as a reflection of her mother instead of her own person?

She sat the bowl on her acrylic desk, her appetite long gone. The urge to get out of the house was strangling her. She recalled her therapist explaining anxiety attacks and how to avoid them. She needed air.

She picked up her phone and called Daniel. It went to voicemail so she hung up and texted instead. 'Help! Need out now.' She laid on her bed and opened Snapchat. She had PMs, most of them men asking if the carpet matched the drapes. Pervs. Some days she wished she looked different. She went to her bathroom and took a full body selfie to show off her sweater dress and new glasses. #Nofilter #prettyinpink

She followed a couple of other people like her and jumped onto her bed as she checked their feeds. A few minutes later, there was a knock on her door.

"Your father beckons," said Lex with his creeper smile. She couldn't understand why her dad trusted him. Alexandrea could picture him driving a Hester the Molester van in a big city. But besides the smile, he was okay. She was sure he would let her go to camp.

"I'm busy," she tested, swiping through pics of Matilde & Angelica on Instagram, two models in Europe.

"He doesn't give care. Get your ass down to his study in the next two minutes before he orders me to drag you there."

Alexandrea stared at him, his smile never wavered. His creepiness just went off the charts. She sniffed in defiance as she shifted to a sitting position and crossed her arms. "He would never--" she started, but he stalked away, taking her opportunity to be a bitch with him.

She punched her pillow and waited. This power struggle was a necessity. She was no longer a little girl and her father needed to realize this. She was not her mother. She wasn't sure if he would ever understand. Even when Alexandrea looked at her mother's pictures she felt as though she was looking in a mirror.

At least a minute ticked by before she heard feet in the hall. Brett appeared at the door, his neon orange tie blinding her. "Do you want to go to this thing or not? The longer you make him wait, the less likely you are going and the more likely the Lions will be in the Super Bowl."

Her feet were on the ground before she realized it. Brett was right. Her father didn't like defiance and she would feel the pain if she defied him anymore.

When she sat across from him in his office, he placed a stack of papers on the desk and pushed them towards her. Since he didn't say anything but stare at her, she picked them up and skimmed them. It was the paperwork for her to go, signed and dated, with all the records they had asked for. 

"Thank you," she whispered, not wanting to jinx it. "I'm glad you trust me to go alone."

"This was never about trusting you and no, you can't go alone," he said firmly. "Brett will be a counselor there.”

"Why?" she couldn’t hide her annoyance. “There will be counselors and a bunch of other people… this is so embarrassing.” She rolled her grey eyes and crossed her arms.

"Either Brett or Lex goes to this fucking snot-nosed camp with you. You choose."

A shiver ran up her spine, making her hair flutter around her and her cheeks flush. "God no," she whispered involuntarily. She'd rather not go than have the creeper her chaperone. She hated to admit that her father had played his hand and she had a flop. She looked at the stack in her hand. It could be worse. He could have told her hell no and locked her in her room. He was allowing her to be away for an entire week, in the woods, and miss school. Maybe he did care about her future.

"You have to check in every night by 8pm, and text me every morning. I don't care if you have to fake some tragedy to get away."

"Daaaaaad," she groaned. "That's way too much. Once a day is too much." Nope, he didn't care. This confirmed it.

"If I don't get anything, then I will come fetch you myself. Don't try me." He pushed out of his chair and poured himself 2 fingers of bourbon. Even on his day off, he suited up. "I spoke to that Ms. Jensen this morning. Man, that bitch talks a lot. She said you got potential. And regardless of what you think, I want you to make something of yourself. So, you better not waste that fuckin week." He turned to face her, looking thoughtful. "Break the Bartoni curse and get into one of those damn pocket-raping Ivy deals." As he left, he patted her on the shoulder.