"Tradimento" - Italian for Betrayal

She got a perplexed look on her face. "Are you OK, Dad?"

"Physically, yes; but emotionally – despite my apparent lack of outward displays – I'm a wreck. Before I talk to you, though, I want you to promise that you won't tell anyone about this – including your Mom and Angela – until the day after my birthday. Promise?" I said, holding my hand up in the "I swear" position after I asked "Promise?"

"WOW – sounds serious," she gulped. "OK Dad, I promise; I swear;" she said, holding up her hand and trying to force a smile.

"I found out about your mother's love affair with Piero Romano, and I'm trying to decide whether to divorce her," I blurted out.

"Oh no, Daddy," she cried, holding her hand over her mouth and with tears instantly forming.

"There's only one hope. I need to find out all that you know about it, and I need you to take a DNA test."

"What?" she cried, before going to the brink of a full-out meltdown.

I saw that the restaurant was no place for this. I told her to meet me outside and we'd then go to my car after I paid the bill. I tracked down the waitress, paid in cash with a $20 tip, and found Grace, still in tears on the sidewalk. Once we got into my car I said "OK, Grace, spill; our family's continued existence depends upon it."

After a few minutes of sobbing where she couldn't get anything out – and with me just staring at her – she started talking.

"I didn't realize that Mom was sleeping with Piero – or Uncle Piero as we were told to call him – until I was twelve, despite displays of affection every time that we were in Chicago, especially at Christmas. I know that from comments that Angela made that she knew before then, but I wasn't sophisticated enough to figure it out. I confronted Mom. She said that it was an adult thing; that she was in love with two men and that I'd understand when I grew up; and that you must never know because it might mean the end of our family because you were too 'insensitive' – I think that's the word that she used – to understand it. Therefore I was sworn to secrecy."

Grace broke down again for a while, and then continued. "I hoped that at Piero's funeral that would be the end of it, and that you would never find out. After she made a fool of herself at his casket I confronted her again. I told her that if she just jumped into someone else's arms I'd tell you the whole story. She slapped me and asked how I could think of her as a tramp; that she had loved Piero and loved you and there would be no one else. She just had to honor Piero's memory. I believed her and prayed that this day – when you found out – would never come because I'm sure she won't have another love, or even sexual, affair."

I pumped her for additional information until I determined that it would be counterproductive to get more. She was – as I had hoped – still in a state of anguish when I hit her with the second reason for my visit.

"I am hoping to make it with your mother, Grace; and what you have told me will help. However, I need one more thing. I need us to submit DNA samples to see if you are my biological daughter."

"No, Daddy, no," she cried – "you're my only father."

"I know that I'm your father," I replied, "but I have to know whether I'm your biological one too. Here. Let me swab your cheek, I'll swap mine, we will put them in this envelope," I said, getting a large envelope from the back seat, "and mail it to the testing lab together."

She protested some more, but finally agreed. I swabbed her check. Then I swabbed mine. I pretended to drop my sealed swab on the car floor, and then picked up the one from under my seat in its place. She never noticed. I showed her the letter in the envelope addressed to the lab, she saw two swab containers in the envelope, and then I sealed it up. The instructions in the letter were to mail the results to both Grace directly, and to me.

When I drove her back to campus she watched as I dropped the envelope into an Express Mail mailbox on the way.

When we hugged goodbye she begged "Promise that you'll forgive Mom and make it work."

"I can't promise now since I don't lie like she does. However, you have done your part to increase the chances that it will work. Now remember, don't tell anyone about our talk until the 19th at the earliest."

"I promised," she smiled. Then she stuttered. "There is...uh...one more thing...I should tell you. Mom and Angela will be at a Chicago exhibition of Piero's works, some of which are photographs of Mom, on your birthday. She told me that she was sorry that it worked out like that, but she has to attend since works that she inherited from Piero under his will are going to be displayed. She wanted me to come too, but I had too much work at school."

I smiled and as nonchalantly as I could and replied "I know. Thanks for being honest."

We hugged again and she was off. She didn't see the tears that I shed knowing that my relationship with Angela was now as dead as the one with Laura; but not deciding yet if I could salvage it with Grace.

Grace didn't know that I had recorded our conversation in the car.

There was one thing that Grace didn't know that would cause her pain and was a segment of Part IV of my plan. The swab that I put into the envelope that was supposedly mine was that of an Italian background janitor who worked in my office building who I had been friendly with over the years. I promised to pay to have his ancestry determined as a birthday present to him. He didn't even ask why I needed three swabs instead of one to do that. The one I did send in for testing his heritage showed that he was more than 80% Italian, with some Eastern and Western European small contributions, which made him happy.

Why did I put an Italian's DNA in what was to be tested instead of mine? – because I wanted everyone to hurt. The reason I used an Italian is because during DNA testing they can – even if comparing two sets – find out the heritage of both contributors, and since Piero was Italian I wanted everyone to conclude that he was the father of Grace and – if I could work it out – Angela.

*************

I crossed my fingers that Grace wouldn't tell. I talked to her on the phone the 16th and 18th, and she promised that she hadn't – and since I hadn't heard from Laura I was sure that that was true.

Around 11 p. m. on the 16th Roberto Milan emailed photos of the relevant parts of the Romano exhibit to me. They cut me deeper than I thought that they would; I shook like a leaf as I sobbed while viewing them.

There was a collage or series of ten photos, increasing in size from the first to the last. They all had distinctive Romano characteristics, including in the damning last two brilliant "Romano abilità artistica" effects. The series was entitled "Natale Amore" [Christmas Love].

What initially ripped my heart out were the first two in the series, which showed two girls in the background of a photo of a woman who was unquestionably Laura. While their was bokeh (blurring) of the girls' faces there was now doubt from their hair, what they were wearing (Christmas gifts from my mother) and relative sizes that it was Angela and Grace when they were around nine and eleven. In the second photo of the first two one of Laura's breasts was exposed and she had what could only be described as a "fuck me" look.

The next three in the series Laura was in increasily less dress until in the final one she was naked and obviously playing with herself, although you couldn't see her hand touching her pussy.

The second series started again with a photo where the girls were in the background, this time somewhat older, with the last four progressively risque until the second to last which had Laura in an exceptionally sexual frontal nude pose, and the last one where the clear implication was that she had just been fucked and was in post-coital bliss.

After I threw up, drank some ginger ale, and had a good cry I looked at the photos again. If they didn't rip my heart out I'd have to say that the last two photos were probably the best of their type I had ever seen.

I read the text accompanying Roberto Milan's report. "Sorry; I know that this will be hard on you. The collection is worth a minimum of $300,000, more likely $500,000. The second to last photo alone would bring $125,000-$175,000 if sold separately. The last two photos are the best execution of "Romano abilità artistica" effects in history – not just in my opinion, but in that of at least four other appraisers and art critics that I overheard talking about them. I asked Gina if any were for sale – she put me in touch with the 'owner per Piero's will,' not surprisingly – Laura. Laura said that they weren't for sale at the present time because they were 'priceless' and that the four where she was completely nude would not be sold until after her death. 'I wouldn't want the general public – and especially my husband – seeing me like that while I'm alive,' she said, the 'especially my husband' with a laugh."

Even though he was doing his job, he might as well have ripped my testicles off.

"I have her on tape," were the last words of his email, followed by a frowning emoji.

I emailed the digital form of my recording of what Grace said, and Roberto's photos and words, to my attorney Gail Schiff. She called me at 7:30 the morning of the 17th. "Obviously your petition for divorce is justified in alleging adultery. A law enforcement officer will serve Laura tomorrow night at the gala."

"There's one thing I need to add," I said. "I'll drop it off so that you can express it to your process server with the divorce papers."

I dropped an envelope addressed to Angela off with Gail. In the envelope was a letter from me, a swab of the Italian janitor's cheek, a container with a new swab, and an envelope provided with express mail postage addressed to a DNA lab with included instructions. The letter from me to Angela read:

"Angela. If there is any hope that you and I have a relationship in the future there is one thing that you need to do for me. You need to swab the inside of your cheek, insert it into the envelope addressed to the DNA lab with my swab already in it, and express mail the envelope. As you will see, the lab has instructions to mail the results directly to you at school, as well as to me.

Maybe you don't want a relationship with me in the future. You still need to do as I ask, however, because if you don't I will make sure that our money is tied up for years and you can kiss goodbye the tuition, room and board, and expenses for the end of your junior year and your senior year at that expensive private college you attend. So even if you hate me as much as your actions and inactions toward me in the past would indicate, it is in your self interest to do as I ask. Grace has already complied.

Your father(?), Grant Oster"

I was glad that I wasn't there when the shit hit the fan in Chicago on my birthday. The process server reported to Gail that Laura and Angela were all smiles as they hob-knobbed with the public at about 9 p. m. on the 18th. They were perplexed when they were handed the envelopes by the law enforcement officer as the process server with him took photos. They opened up the envelopes on the spot. The law enforcement officer left, but the process server stayed behind taking more photos until he was kicked out. The photos he emailed to Gail, and Gail to me, showed Laura sinking lower and lower onto the ground, ultimately landing in a fetal position, and Angela first distraught, then angry, and then trying to tend to her prone mother.

"Really put a damper on the festivities," followed by a smiling emoji was the cryptic last comment the process server made in the email accompanying the photos.

Angela called me the morning of the 19th. After expressing her disgust with the way that I handled serving the papers – to which I replied "Tough shit traitorous bitch – tell it to someone who gives a damn," – a type of words I had never talked to her with before in her life, she said "I'm not inclined to do the DNA thing."

"Don't want to find out who your biological father is instead of the sap who's been supporting you all these hears?" I sarcastically asked.

"You are my father," she replied.

"Maybe – maybe not," I responded. "One thing is for sure, however. I've already had my attorney freeze all of your mother's and my accounts and I can assure you that there will be NO money for your education – or even living expenses since you're twenty years old – in the future unless you mail that envelope with your cheek swab. Now that I think of it, I'll need a video of you swabbing your cheek, putting it in the envelope, and mailing it – all contemporaneously – in order to believe you in view of the lies that you've told me over the years."

"That's cruel – I haven't lied to you," she snarled.

"Oh really," I snickered. "You didn't tell the 'whole truth' though did you. Your sister has remorse and will get her tuition paid. You are apparently as vile a bitch as your mother so I'm not going to waste time discussing it with you because you make me sick. Either do as I say and email me the video, or this is the last conversation that we ever have in your life!" With that I slammed the phone down – it's nice to have a land line where you can make a statement by slamming the phone down rather than simply pushing that red button, which provided no emphasis, on a cell phone.

*****************

The vile mother bitch didn't try and call me the 18th-21st, and probably delayed her return to Columbus for two days, commiserating with her bosom buddy Gina. The excitement at the exhibition on the 18th was reported not only in two major Chicago papers, but in two national art publications. A photo of prone Laura – obviously sold to them by the process server – appeared in each. I got a good chuckle between by urges to expel my stomach contents.

Apparently the vile bitch did come to the house – no longer a home as far as I was concerned – on the 22nd. I know only because the envelope that I had left on the new front door – one made of steel and with the frame reinforced and the lock changed (just like for the side and rear doors) – was no longer there, and my attorney had left a message on my cellphone that we needed to talk.

The envelope was addressed to "Vile Fucking Slut," which I assumed that Laura would know was her. My inside message was terse: "Hey bitch: Have your attorney contact mine about when you can pick up your personal stuff. The sooner we sell the house and get our sham of a marriage over with the better. I will fight every attempt by you to live back in this house until it is sold. Do something decent for the first time in our farcical relationship – don't fight it (not that you would for anything aside from economic reasons anyway since you have zero love or respect for me). Your formerly clueless ex, Grant. P. S. The doors are bobby trapped. Any unauthorized entry will start all of your previous family albums on fire."

It required a court appearance by the attorneys for something to be worked out with respect to living arrangements. I probably could have gotten exactly what I wanted if I didn't put that P. S. on the note to the slut, but I couldn't help myself. We finally – through our attorneys – agreed to both vacate the house and immediately put it on the market, with the amount of our temporary housing expenses considered in the division of assets.

Laura tried to be difficult in the monetary negotiations – but she had no bargaining power because she acquired her precious photographs from Piero while we were still married. When I demanded five photographs – she could choose one, then me, etc., until all ten were divvied up – according to her attorney she got hysterical, especially since by that time she had seen how I had doctored the family photo albums. At Laura's insistence we took Roberto's appraisal of the photographs, one done by an appraiser hired by her, and one by a neutral appraiser. Hilariously Roberto's was the lowest one, costing her $200,000 more than if she had accepted his appraisal. Since this was seriously cutting into what she would end up with she offered me two of the photographs – that she chose. However she rescinded that offer when I had my attorney tell her's that I agreed as long as she had them delivered to the local firing range and she watched what I did to them.

When all was said and done by the time the divorce proceedings had concluded Laura was left with her personal possessions (including all albums – she was pissed that I didn't want any of them), half the furniture, and one-quarter of the sale price of the house – nothing else, including no alimony; but a suspended jail sentence (more about that later).

We did agree to jointly pay all of the college expenses of Grace and Angela until they graduated, but nothing more than that.

As for Angela and Grace, as expected the DNA results came back that they were not my biological daughters. That infuriated Laura so much that she almost had a stroke. I talked to Grace about it – not Angela who had complied with my request solely to get her college expenses paid and apparently was happy with no future relationship with me.

"Dad, Mom says that the results are wrong. She said that while she was married to you she never had sex with anyone besides you and Piero, and that she never even met Piero before I was born."

"Then why is your father of Italian ancestry like Piero while I'm Dutch all the way back on both sides of my family? Your mother has demonstrated that she is a pathological liar, having lied to me about loving me for the entire twenty four plus years of our relationship, so why would you believe that anything that she says is true?"

"She says she wants another DNA test."

"Not gonna happen because you're not minor children and it has nothing to do with the divorce – I just wanted to know in my mind, and have you and Angela know – the truth. Plus you saw me swab my cheek and put the swab in the envelope, and then mail it, yourself."

"Dad – Mom also wants to talk with you person to person. She says that she's made the request through her attorney a number of times but isn't even sure that your attorney gave you the message because she never got a response."

"She didn't get a response because I told my attorney to ignore her request. What possible reason could I have to talk to that slut?"

"Dad, please don't call her that to me; I still love her despite her faults. I'm asking you, please, as a favor to me that you talk with her for an hour. Please."

"Sorry, Grace, no can do. I have forgiven you and would like to maintain a relationship with you, but there is nothing – and I mean nothing – that would cause me to talk with her."

****************

Now for Laura's suspended jail sentence and getting only one quarter the proceeds of the sale of the house:

After my phone conversation with Grace about the DNA test and Laura's desire for a talk with me, she did something stupid. I thought that she might pull something so I hooked up and walked around with a panic button connected directly to a private security company.

One night a woman knocked on the door of the condo that I was renting during the divorce proceedings until the final financial details were worked out. I didn't see the two big guys, and Laura, standing out to the side when I looked through the peephole. As soon as I opened the door the two big guys burst in and grabbed me, but not before I pushed my silent panic button. Once they grabbed me they yanked me over to a chair and tied me too it while Laura entered and the other woman took off.

"Grant, I'm sorry that I had to do this, but you refused to meet with me and refused to redo the DNA test which both you and I know is wrong."