Chapter Twelve

Angelo

Sometimes being a father was a thankless job.

Like with Bianca.

Did she ever appreciate how I tried to protect her? No.

Did she thank me for waking up at the crack of dawn on this side of the ocean just to call her after her dinner meeting? No.

And let’s not even go there—the meeting. It wasn’t important, not anymore. The only thing that mattered to me was my Bianca.

You see, of my four daughters, Bianca was always my baby girl. Not in age, but in every other way.

Don’t get me wrong, I loved all my daughters with every fiber of my being, and I would until my dying day, but Bianca was special. While her sisters migrated to their mother at every age, as a little girl, Bianca stood out as my little girl. She would spend time with me in my office, following me around, watching me work. And it wasn’t just that—she stole my heart from the very first look.

That was why we named her Bianca, for my mother. My mother always loved the name, but instead of having a girl to use it on, she had been blessed with boys, all boys.

Meanwhile, I was cursed— scusa , blessed—with all girls. Beautiful, intelligent girls. Girls who boys wanted. Especially Bianca. The way the boys always looked at her, why it made me seethe.

That was why the news of that Knox fellow coming back into the picture had me concerned. Concerned enough to tell Bianca like it was.

Not that I couldn’t thank Knox for spilling the beans. Figures he would, by the way. Punk kid probably got off telling her all about our conversation from two years before.

So now Bianca didn’t want to talk to me unless it was about work. She’d get over it—I prayed that was the case.

As long as she came around to my way of thinking on this subject eventually, I didn’t care if she wanted to only talk business with me for now. I’d pay whatever price I had to in order to protect her because I knew my daughter. Bianca wasn’t like Maria; she didn’t lead with her head. She wasn’t like Allegra, either, who thankfully wasn’t looking for more than a roommate these days. And Perla, well, she was the curveball. But she had a good head on her shoulders, and married a man that had more integrity in his pinky finger than most men had in their entire bodies.

If only Bianca would listen to me and heed my warning. I was older, wiser, more experienced, and I knew things. I knew boys. And Knox Rhodes was not the one for my baby girl.