Page 75 of Texting My Mafia Boss

Ettore looks on the verge of tears at Sylvie’s words. I want to hold him so badly.

“Thank you,” he says, voice husky. “Mara, thank you so much.”

“You don’t have to thank me. There was no way I was going to let anybody hurt her. You should’ve seen her, Ettore. She was so brave.”

“Was I?” Sylvie looks up at me with glistening eyes.

I kiss her on the forehead. “You were amazing.”

He takes us to a picturesque cottage in the middle of a forest, down a winding three-mile-long road. I struggle to believe that anyone would be able to find us here. Livia airs it out while I take Sylvie into the bathroom and sit on the toilet seat as she takes a shower. She doesn’t want to be away from me, even for a moment.

After, we switch places, then I shower. She’s sleeping once she’s in fresh PJs. Ettore has clothes here, so perhaps they’ve been here before. Or perhaps he always anticipated something like this would happen.

I wear some older woman’s clothes, obviously for Livia, a floral shirt and trousers a little fancier than I’d usually choose. Sylvie is sleeping on the bed, over the covers, when I emerge from the walk-in closet. I don’t have the heart to wake her, so I pull a blanket over her, then sit on the bed beside her.

Ettore is elsewhere in the house. I hear him barking down the phone, using his Don voice, issuing orders. He sounds furious. I lie next to Sylvie, my hands moving over my belly, my gut twisted with anxiety.

From the attack, the brush with death… but also, perhaps from the fact that I told Sylvie about me and her father. I had to. I didn’t have any other choice. But the fact she now knows means there’s a lot more pressure on this, on us. I can’t just be her nanny anymore.

What am I even thinking?

I lie back, my head on the pillow, close my eyes and try not to obsess. Livia is cooking some kind of stew, loudly moving around the kitchen, as if she needs to keep moving or she’ll be forced to confront what just happened.

A few minutes later, I hear a creak from the door. I open my eyes and look up. Ettore is there, still in his undershirt, blood dotting his neck. Despite the darkness shrouding him – just like that drawing – a smile touches his lips. He takes out his phone and texts me.

Ettore: Is she sleeping or just pretending to be asleep? I don’t want to scare her.

Mara: Sleeping.

I reply, looking over at him. It’s a miracle, but I’m smiling too.

He walks into the room quietly, then gently lowers himself onto the bed. He tenderly brushes his hand over Sylvie’s hair, then returns to his phone.

Ettore: I have to be careful about how I phrase this over text, but I’m so, so sorry, Mara. I’m sorry you had to be part of this. But I’m also relieved you were there. You saved me from myself, from the idea that I had to be miserable all the time. And now you’ve saved my daughter.

Tears prick my eyes, my breath catching.

Mara: She knows about us.

His face registers this, stunned. But then his smile returns.

Ettore: Good.

Mara: Good? Just good? Aren’t you going to ask why? I used our relationship to make that awful man let me switch places with her.

Ettore: I love that you called it a relationship.

He texts, looking at me seriously.

Mara: We need to be serious about this.

I reply, looking at him in what I hope is a serious way.

He types for a long time. I watch his knitted eyebrows, his tense jaw, the speed with which he taps at the screen. I never knew texting could provoke so much in me before I came to his estate. Now, with all the emotions bubbling up, it’s so clear that texting is some kind of superpower. A shield we can use to say things we otherwise couldn’t. Or maybe even shouldn’t, sometimes.

Finally, his text arrives.

Ettore: We’re together. That’s what counts. Things are messy, and there’s a chance they might get even messier, but I’m committed to making this work. Sylvie has fallen in love with you already. Perhaps that’s a good thing or maybe it’s a bad thing. Maybe it will scar her or maybe it will be the best thing that ever happened to her. But I’m done living my life expecting the worst. I’m done living in the shadows. You’ve changed me, Mara, made me realize I have to make a stand. In my work, yes, but in my personal life too. I can’t make any concrete claims or requests or anything, but know this… I am going to make this work. You, Sylvie, Livia, you’re what matters to me. We have the potential to be a family. Not some perfect, storybook thing, but a collection of people doing their best.