He studies my face with an intensity no child his age should possess.
Finally, his shoulders slump in resignation. "Can I at least wear my suit for a little while?"
I pull him close. "Of course you can, my little prince. There will be a reception here later. You can attend that."
When I release him, his small hand reaches up to touch my cheek, wiping away a tear I didn't realize had fallen.
"Don't cry, Mama," he says, puffing up his chest. "I'll protect you when you get back."
"Thank you for understanding," I say, straightening his already-perfect tie. "You know I wouldn't ask this of you unless it was important."
"I know." His voice is small but dignified. "Is it because of the bad men who hurt Nonno Lorenzo?"
My breath catches. Children hear everything, understand more than we give them credit for.
I won't lie to him. I never have.
Well, except the one question about his father.
But… "Yes. When something like this happens, we need to be extra careful."
Enzo's brow furrows with the concentration of someone trying to be brave beyond their years. "Will you tell him goodbye for me? Tell him I practiced piano like he showed me."
Don Lorenzo may have been cold to most, but he always had time to sit with Enzo at the piano in the formal living room, guiding his small fingers over the keys with surprising patience. Lorenzo’s kindness toward me and my son, Enzo, always made me wonder if he knew the truth… But I never asked, and he never said.
"I promise." I stand, smoothing my dress.
Enzo throws his arms around my waist in a sudden, fierce hug. "Come back safe.”
I stroke his hair. "Always."
Then in a flash, he runs out of my room as quickly as he arrived. I smile, remembering how scared I was to learn I was pregnantand feared what my family would do, what Don Lorenzo Dante might do.
Raising him alone has meant countless nights of doubt, wondering if I'm doing enough, being enough. But in moments like this, I know we're getting something right, him and me against the world.
If only that world weren’t about to get much more complicated.
I take one last look in the mirror, straightening my shoulders.
Today, I'll bury the closest thing I've had to a father.
Today, I'll stand with the Dantes against whispers of Bratva involvement. Today, I'll face…
Luca.
The name I don't allow myself to speak aloud anymore slips through my mental defenses.
He'll likely be there today, the prodigal son returned.
I close my eyes, willing my heartbeat to steady. Seven years should be enough to forget a man. It hasn't been.
Nearly an hour later, The church looms before me and my brother Pyotr.
His hand rests on my lower back as we climb the steps. He was unusually quiet on the ride over.
"Are you alright?" I ask quietly.
"Fine." His eyes dart around the crowd gathering outside. "Just surveying the battlefield."
