Four Years Later…
“Three years.” My dad smiles, tossing his chip as I drive him home. “Can you believe that? Three years without stepping foot in a casino.”
“I’m proud of you, Dad,” I tell him as he pats me on the knee. “And just think, none of it would have been possible without Dominic.”
I chuckle as Dad frowns at me. He pinches me on that spot on my thigh that never fails to tickle me, and I quickly swat him on the back of the hand.
“Hey, stop! I’m driving! Do you want me to crash and kill us both?”
“I want you to give credit where credit is due!” he protests. “And I did the work to get past my gambling addiction—not that mafioso bastard who bought my daughter from me.”
I laugh as I take the turn that takes us over the bridge, which I always used to use as a marker to let myself k
