Page 53 of Texting My Mafia Boss

“Says you,” he groans fiercely. “Let’s go.” He nods at the stairs. “I want to tell Sylvie what a good job she did.”

“After you,” I say. “I’m afraid you’ll pounce on me again.”

He laughs darkly. “Afraid, sure,” he says, with that knowing sarcasm. “No, after you. I enjoy the view too much to go first.”

I roll my eyes, but he can tell how much this gets to me. I walk ahead of him, feeling his gaze burning into me. Part of me wants to ask what he did to the man who attacked his wife. Did he kill him? Fine him? Beat him up?

But another part, the coward in me, knows better.

CHAPTER 20

ETTORE

When Sylvie sees me, she turns and buries her face in Livia’s dress. I swallow as guilt punches through me. Mara gives me a knowing look and I instantly know she was right. It wasn’t enough to be there. I should’ve beenseenhere. What I can’t tell Mara is that I had to seriously hurt someone, some piece of filth who thought he could hurt a woman and get away with it.

It leaves a stain, like it always does. I’m simply not the same as these people.

“Hey, hey.” I rush over, kneeling and putting my hand on her shoulder. “I watched the whole show, Sylvie.”

She turns to me, red-eyed and suspicious. “You did?”

I take out my phone, smiling. “I recorded the whole thing. I’m so sorry I was late. I only missed a minute or two.”

“So not thewholeshow then.”

I swallow. “Well?—”

“So that was alie, Daddy.”

I almost start making excuses. But she deserves better than that. “You’re right, yes, that was a lie. I’m sorry. I watched almost the whole show. You were excellent. I really loved the part where you and your friends chased away the lion. The way you were spinning… wow. How didn’t you get dizzy?”

She smiles, but I can still see the sadness in her eyes. It’s like she’s forcing it for my benefit. I think about what Mara said, that Sylvie wasn’t smiling the whole time she was on stage. I missed that. Perhaps I sometimes only see what I want to see. The thought makes me feel rotten.

“I practiced alot,” she says.

“It showed.” I scoop her into my arms, relieved when she throws her arms around me and lets me pick her up. “How about some ice cream on the way home?”

“With chocolate sauce? Can I get three scoops?”

“You can get three hundred if you want.”

The four of us walk out together. Mara looks at me with a confusing expression, some judgment, warmth, hope, and disappointment. I hold onto my daughter tightly, using the same hands I throttled a man almost to death with just a few hours ago, and pray I can be the good version of me for her.

Over ice cream, Sylvie is withdrawn. Mara and Livia do their best to draw her out, but I can tell she just wants to go home. The drive home is tense, Mara sitting in the back seat with Sylvie, Livia sitting beside me. Mara and I exchange glances in the rearview mirror. When she offers me a tight smile, it somehow feels worse than if she aimed pure judgment at me.

Sylvie is sleeping by the time we arrive home, grasping onto Mara’s hand.

“I’ll take her to bed,” Mara says.

“Are you staying here tonight or do you need a ride home?” I ask.

“Staying… if that’s okay?”

It’s more than okay. It’s what I want. For my daughter, yes. But for me too. Even if I’m not supposed to be allowing myself to think like this anymore.

Livia and I sit in the car as Mara carries my daughter toward the house. Livia sighs and taps her fingers against the dashboard.

“Mara isn’t from this life,” she says. “She doesn’t understand that sacrifices must be made.”