Later that night after Luca’s asleep, Dante finds me in the library.
“He asked about the scars on my hands today,” he says without preamble. “Wanted to know how I got them.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That I got hurt at work. Which is technically true.” He pours himself a drink. “How long until he starts asking questions I can’t answer without lying or traumatizing him? You saw things yourself back there.”
“I don’t know.”
“This is harder than I thought it would be. Being a father.”
“You’re doing fine.”
“Am I? Because I have no idea what I’m doing half the time.” He drains his glass. “I can run an empire. I can make grown men piss themselves with fear. But a five-year-old asking innocent questions destroys me.”
I move closer and take the glass from his hand. “You’re doing better than fine, Dante. He adores you.”
“He shouldn’t. He should be afraid of me like everyone else.”
“He’s your son. He sees past the scary exterior to the man underneath.”
“There is no man underneath. Just more darkness.”
“That’s not true.” I cup his face, making him look at me. “I’ve seen you with him. The way you read to him at night. The way you make sure his food is cut into small pieces. The way youcheck on him three times after he’s asleep to make sure he’s okay. That’s not darkness, Dante. That’s love.”
He stares at me for a long moment, then pulls me into his arms and just holds me.
And I let him, because apparently we’re doing this now. Being a real couple. Being a family.
Even if it terrifies me.
Rosa has become Luca’s favorite person besides Dante and me. She sneaks him cookies when she thinks I’m not looking and teaches him Italian words that he butchers adorably.
“Mamma, I learned a new word!Biscotti!”
“That’s wonderful, baby. What does it mean?”
“Cookies!” He grins proudly. “And Rosa makes the bestbiscottiin the whole world.”
Rosa just smiles and ruffles his hair. “You are too sweet,piccolino.”
I watch her with my son and feel grateful for her presence. She’s fierce in her protection of both of us, like a grandmother who’ll cut anyone who threatens her grandchild.
One morning she finds me in the kitchen making coffee and just starts talking.
“You’re good for him, you know.”
“For Luca?”
“For Dante.” She hands me cream. “I’ve worked for the Moretti family for twenty years. Watched Dante grow from an angryteenager into a harder man. But since you’ve been here, I’ve seen glimpses of who he could have been. Who he still might be.”
“I don’t think I have that much influence.”
“You have more than you know.” She pats my hand. “Just don’t give up on him when things get difficult. He needs you both.”
Elena becomes a regular visitor over the next two weeks, and somehow she becomes my first real friend in this world.
It starts with her bringing the kids over to play with Luca. Then it turns into coffee while Rosa watches them. Then it becomes these long conversations about everything and nothing.
