Family: Out of Business

Ventured

Claire's pov

Shit! I never thought he'd see that call I made yesterday. Rookie mistake. I really should've known better. Not much I can do now but venture a guess as I confess. Huh, I sound like Dr. Seuss. It's too early in the morning for this nonsense.

"I made that call, Daddy, when I found my phone under your pillow while I was making your bed. I'm sorry."

"Mmhmm," my father hummed and nodded, as he stood and came out from behind my grandfather's desk. He had his hands clasped behind his back as he stared down at me. My dad has a way of making me feel very small sometimes and this is most definitely one of those times.

"Are you really sorry, mia figlia (my daughter), or are you just sorry you were caught?"

I bit the inside of my lip and kept my gaze lowered as I tried to determine the best way to proceed. I've been caught pretty much red-handed so denial of any wrongdoing is out the window, plus I already confessed, so then I'd just look like a liar. So what do I do now? Beg for mercy? Brush it off as an inconsequential minor defense? Put up a wall of defiance and belligerence? That last option is what got me grounded from my phone to begin with so I'll cross that off the list of possible criminal defenses.

"Am I boring you, piccola ragazza (little girl), or are you just not listening?" my dad asked facetiously.

How am I supposed to answer that? Seriously! Come on Dad, give me something to work with here.

"No, it was just one phone call. So not a big deal, Dad. I did all your stupid chores. Can't you just give me a break for once?" I went with option number two, blow it off like it's hardly worth mentioning.

My dad chuckled but not the ha ha funny kind of chuckle. No, this was the dark, foreboding, Pennywise the clown, I'm gonna drag you into the sewer and kill you kind of chuckle. A type of very unfunny mirth, to be exact. His hands were no longer behind his back. One was tightly grasping the top of my chair, less than an inch from my face and the other brushed his suit coat back and was now resting precariously on his hip. He leaned down, getting in my face, our noses practically touching.

I couldn't face him now even if I wanted to, which I didn't, so I kept my eyes on my hands wringing nervously in my lap. I swallowed hard feeling my antiperspirant start to fail me. Shit! My dad is scary. Not on the same level as my grandfather but a pretty close facsimile.

"Eyes on me right now, Claire Francesca!" he barked, making me flinch as he snapped his fingers by my ear.

I cautiously complied, not wanting to see the fury-filled fire flickering behind my dad's eyes. I'm quickly realizing I should have gone with option number one; beg for mercy.

"Repeat what you just said to me while you look me in the eye, little one." My dad's tone was ice cold.

"Uh, I'm not exactly sure what I said," I replied nervously.

My dad leaned back against Grandfather's desk and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Think hard, mia figlia (my daughter), because if you need help remembering, I'd be happy to offer assistance but it will be with my belt as you're bent over this desk." Dad had a menacing scowl on his face. "Well? Starting to come back to you yet?"

Truth is, I remember most of what I said, the gist of it anyway, which is all my dad wants to hear but I cannot say it to his face. Can I? No, that would be crazy, insane even, ludicrous, ridiculous, preposterous.

"I'm quickly losing my patience, signorina (young lady). You have ten seconds to answer me before I unbuckle my belt. One, two," my dad started the countdown but I still didn't say anything. "three, four," he continued.