Clyde almost had it right snagging kids to be his soldiers the moment they came of age, but the issue with that is they already have their own feelings. You can only teach and mold a young adult so much.
Infants, on the other hand…
Max stirs, sits up and rubs his eyes before looking around the room. “Papa?”
I reach down, push his long, thick hair from his face, and stare into his eyes. “You’re fine. Sleep.” I demand.
He narrows his blue orbs, the same way his mother did so many times. “Is it time?”
I nod. “It is. You’ll have a brother within the hour, so rest. I know last night was a lot for you.”
“I liked it though. Kids at school say they aren’t allowed to play with guns, so it makes me feel special.” He smiles, and all I can hope is his front teeth grow back quickly. He looks so fucking weird.
“It’s because other parents are raising pussies, but us Ciccone’s,” I pat my chest. “We’re not pussies, are we?”
He shakes his head quickly. “No. We’re fucking kings, right?”
I nod. “That’s right.”
“Max!” Alfredo calls from the door. “You can’t speak that way. It’s a bad word.”
I roll my eyes and ruffle his hair as he stands and runs to Alfredo. “Papa said it was okay, Alfie.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “I did, cause it’s true.”
Alfredo’s mouth forms a hard line as he pushes Max out of the office and starts to follow him. “He’s seven.” He deadpans. “And the girl is here.”
I let the argument die as I exit too, grabbing the papers I need from my desk, and start down the stairs. When I make it to the bottom and stop at the living room threshold, a young girl no more than eighteen stands on the other side. In her arms, she has a fresh baby wrapped in a pink blanket, along with another one who is maybe two clinging to her leg.
“Veronica?” I ask as Max comes to stand beside me.
She nods. “Thank you for letting me meet you. I just want to make sure my baby is taken care of.” Her body shakes, and I know it isn’t from crying.
Her hair is tangled and messy—her clothes, too small and dirty. And I know the scabs covering her exposed flesh are nothing more than her picking. She’s a fucking druggie.
I glance at Alfredo behind me. “Get the child and give her cash after she signs the adoption papers.”
He nods, pulling a manilla envelope from the inside of his jacket, then steps around me.
“He looks sad, papa, and hungry.” Max whispers, pointing to the kid holding her leg.
“He does.”
“He could be my brother.” He adds, and although I don’t want to agree because I want an infant, I feel Max has softened me a bit because I feel bad for the kid. On top of that, I don’t want girls. I need boys who will grow into men and carry my name long after I’m gone.
When Alfredo hands her the cash, she tries to give him the baby, but I stop her. “No. Him,” I point to the toddler. “I’ll take him.”
Her eyes widen as she shakes her head. “Easton? No. You can’t take him.”
I tip my head. “And why not?”
“Well—” She cuts herself off almost as if she’s trying to think of the perfect reason.
“I will take him, and Alfredo will find proper care for the baby. If you don’t agree, then you get no money and can leave now.”
It takes her less than three seconds to think, which doesn’t surprise me. “Fine.” Squatting down, she looks at the boy. “You’re going to live here now, okay? But he has a lot of money and will take care of you like mommy can’t.”
She doesn’t even kiss him goodbye before standing back to her full height, signing the adoption documents, giving Alfredo the baby, and leaving with her envelope of cash.
