“Don’t lie; it only makes it worse.”
“You haven’t been sleeping since you moved in, have you?”
“It’s that obvious?” I subtly rub at my mouth, hoping there is no dried drool clinging to the corners.
“Not really, but I’m observant. I’ve noticed.”
Well, that’s not good. I can’t have him beingtoo observant. If he figures out my agenda, Mom and I are both finished.
“I’ve had trouble sleeping my entire life,” I say, but it’s completely untrue. I’m the type who conks out the second her head hits the pillow. I sleep like the dead usually, but that was before. Now, sleep is an illusion as much as this new life is. “Even as a baby, Mom said I never slept for more than a couple hours at a time.” The mask makes it easier to deceive him because I don’t have to look him in the face while I spin a web of lies.
“That’s not good. It’s hard to function if you haven’t had a good night’s sleep. Have you seen a doctor?”
“I don’t want to take sleeping pills, and that’s what they’ll push on me.”
The car slows down, and the engine idles. A soft whirring sound tickles my eardrums, and a cold breeze lifts strands of my hair. A beeping sound rings out as Cristian punches in a five-digit code. I’m glad I can’t see shit through the eye mask. I don’t want to know the entry code. I want to know as little as possible so it can’t be tortured out of me at a later stage.
“You can remove the mask now,” Cristian confirms as a little hand tugs on my arm.
“Quick, Slowpoke Sloane. You gotta see the playground.”
I whip the blindfold off in time to see the large play area off to the side, equipped with an obstacle course, climbing frame, swings, slides, and a zipwire that runs from the playground into the woods that seem to border the rear part of the property. “Wow, that’s amazing. You’re a lucky little boy.” What I wouldn’t have given for something like that when I was a kid.
“Daddy says that all the time too. Will you push me on the swings?”
“Absolutely. We’ll have lots of fun this weekend for sure.” Removing a wipe from my bag, I scrub at the patch of drool on the window of Cristian’s expensive sports car.
“That is Caleb and Elisa’s home on the right,” Cristian supplies as we drive toward two impressive properties.
“That is a stunning home.” My gaze skates over the ranch-style house with greed. This truly is how the other half lives. The gorgeous home has a variety of different peaked roofs and an abundance of gray-framed windows, some arched and some rectangular. A few balconies abut the windows on either side. At first sight, it looks like the house is only on one level, but that’s because the ground level is almost hidden by the front pathway and gardens stretching majestically on either side of the wide property. Manicured hedges border pristine flower beds, and the small water feature in the center of the front path is also bordered by hedges. “It’s exquisite.”
“The twins have great taste, albeit very different.” He swings past that house to a more industrial-type modern build beside it. “That is Gia and Joshua’s home.”
“It’s equally stunning in a more simplistic way.” The two-story building has flat roofs and wide rectangular windows on all sides. The structure is propped up by several tall, wide white pillars, and the gardens at the front adjoin the other house.
“That’s my house!” Elio points excitedly out the window as Cristian drives farther along the road in the direction of the construction up ahead. “Can I show her my bedroom, Daddy?”
“Not today, bud. We can’t enter the house without the foreman.” Cristian’s eyes dart to mine again through the mirror. “I’ll bring you back sometime when the crew is here. Although they are mostly working on the interiors now, it’s still considered a construction site and not safe to go inside without hard hats.”
I nod as I drink it all in while the car slows down on our approach. A pang of longing hits me square in the chest. “It’s beautiful, Cristian. It has a real Mediterranean feel about it.” The two-story mansion is painted a muted terracotta color, and the dark wooden door and window frames perfectly complement it. A few double doors on the second level open to high balconies with wrought-iron railings. Archways wrap around the ground level, offering enclosed seating areas for cover during the warmer weather and providing an unparalleled view of the front gardens. I look behind me, and you can see the playground in the distance from here.
Cristian stops the car, and we climb out onto a beige paved driveway. “That will be a six-car garage,” Cristian explains, jerking his head to the half-built structure on the left, while he takes a firm hold of his son’s hand. “No running off, Elio. It’s dangerous.” His son pouts but stops wriggling under his father’s stern gaze.
Cristian appears to have struck a good balance between setting boundaries and allowing Elio’s spirit to blossom. The more I’m around the man, the more impressed I am, and the harder my task seems. Cristian DiPietro is a good man. A good father. I’m more convinced than ever that he’s done nothing to earn the wrath of the cartel. I’m certain their beef was with his brother. Why should the good brother be punished for the sins of the bad one?
“All those dug-out sections will be flower beds,” he explains, yanking me out of my inner thoughts. Cristian jerks his head toward various-sized and shaped areas that have been carved out in the ground in front of the house.
Walking along the short path toward the house, I imagine what it would be like to live somewhere like this. Pain fills my heart knowing I won’t make it that far. I won’t ever get to experience the joy of living in this Wonderland, and it saddens me. If things were different, I would be very happy with this life. Content caring for the most amazing little boy, and maybe falling in love with his father. I can see it. But it’s out of reach, and daydreaming will only add to my suffering. So, I try to harden my heart and shut down my feelings as Cristian and Elio proudly show off their new home.
11
CRISTIAN
“The build is progressing nicely,” Caleb says, arriving outside my house with his son Niccolo in his arms.
“It is. At this rate, we might be in by early summer.” I lift my arms, and little Nico comes to me. “How’s it going, rascal?”
“Elo!” Nico wriggles in my arms, trying to jump down when he sees my son, but I hold him tight.
