The hum of the jet still echoed in my bones, but it was the silence in the SUV that gnawed at me. GreenLee hadn’t spoken since we landed. Not to me. Not to the boys. Matteo and Salvatore sat stiffly in the back, eyes forward, jaws clenched like they were bracing for impact. Maybe they were. Maybe we all were.
I glanced at GreenLee. Her arms were folded tight across her chest, her gaze locked on the passing scenery like it might offer her an escape route. She hadn’t forgiven me. Not for how we handled Kat. Not for the silence. Not for the exile.
And she was right.
I should’ve let her talk to our daughter. Should’ve trusted her to reach Kat in ways I couldn’t. But I was the Don. I made the call. And now, I was the father who hadn’t heard his daughter’s voice in over two years.
The Clubho
