Will he be angry? Will he hate me for keeping his son secret? Will he try to take Luca away from me?
Or will he not care at all?
That might be worse somehow. The idea that he’ll look at Luca and feel nothing. That his own son will just be another complication in his dangerous world.
“Mama?”
I open my eyes. Luca is watching me again with cookie crumbs on his face.
“Yes, baby?”
“I think your friend is going to like you. You’re the best mama in the world. Everyone likes you.”
The innocence in his voice makes my eyes burn.
“Thank you, sweetheart. That’s very kind of you to say.”
“It’s true! You make the best pancakes and you always read me extra stories at bedtime and you give the best hugs.”
“Come here.”
He climbs out of his seat and crawls into my lap, wrapping his small arms around my neck. I hold him tight and breathe in the scent of his shampoo and cookies and little boy.
This is why I’m doing this. This is why I’m walking back into Dante’s world after six years of running.
Because Luca is everything. And I will do whatever it takes to keep him safe.
Even if it means facing the man I’ve been terrified of for six years.
Even if it means telling the truth about what I’ve kept hidden.
Even if it destroys me in the process.
“I love you so much,” I whisper into his hair.
“I love you too, Mama.”
The plane begins its descent and Luca climbs back into his seat, pressing his face against the window to watch the ground get closer.
“Look! I can see buildings! So many buildings!”
“That’s New York City.”
“It’s huge! Way bigger than Portland!”
“It is. You have to hold my hand tight when we’re walking around, okay? I don’t want you getting lost.”
“I promise.” He’s practically bouncing in his seat now. “Can we go to Times Square? I saw it in a movie once and it had all these lights!”
“Maybe. We’ll see what Dante has planned for us.”
The landing is smooth. Professional. The kind of landing you get when you fly private instead of commercial.
The flight attendant opens the door and humid summer air rushes in. It’s July in New York and the heat sits heavy, thick and oppressive in a way Portland never gets.
“Come on, baby.” I take Luca’s hand and we walk down the stairs onto the tarmac.
And there he is.
