She wants to give him cookies and buy him presents because that's what I taught her to do—be kind, be generous.
Think of others.
But letting Dante into her life isn't kindness.
It's a risk I’m not willing to take.
He's dangerous and violent.
He kills people.
I saw the blood on his shirt when he came back from the port.
I heard the guards talking about bodies and cleanup.
That's not the kind of father I want for my daughter.
We finish dinner and Marta clears the plates.
Sofia asks if she can have a bath, and I agree.
Anything to keep her occupied and away from thoughts of Dante and Christmas presents.
I take her upstairs to the guest room and into the bathroom.
The tub is large and deep with jets built into the sides.
I turn on the water and add some of the bubble bath I found under the sink while Sofia strips off her clothes and climbs in while the tub fills.
She giggles as the bubbles rise around her.
"This is the best bath ever," she says.
I sit on the edge of the tub and pour water over her hair to wet it.
"It is pretty nice." I smile at her honesty.
I would love to soak in a hot bath here with perfumed oils and a glass of wine.
Just the luxury of it seems so far out of reach in my normal life, and letting myself cut loose a little doesn’t seem like such a horrible thought.
"Can we get a bathtub like this at home?"
"Maybe someday."
She plays with the bubbles while I work shampoo through her hair, and she chatters about the Christmas tree and the ornaments and how she wants to put a star on top.
I listen and make appropriate sounds, but my mind is elsewhere.
On Dante, and his power and money, and how easily he paid my gambling debts years ago.
This place is massive, probably cost a bomb, and I have no way of giving Sofia even close to similar of a life.
When her hair is rinsed, I stand and walk into the bedroom to lay out her pajamas.
I pull a clean pair from the dresser and set them on the bed.
Then I hear footsteps in the hallway.
