Enzo's Venetian Masquerade

Prologue

Twenty-one years ago

ENZO

I love it when Papa comes to visit.

He's not like the other papas. He doesn't live with us and we don't see him all the time, but when he's here, it's the best thing. Mama is happier, and Rio and Matteo play with me more, because we all want to play with Papa.

Now he’s racing around the garden playing football with us. He calls it soccer, but we keep telling him it’s football.

“Papa!” Rio calls. “Pass it here!”

I wave my hands in the air desperately. “Me! Me, Papa!” I cry.

“He's too little.” Matteo weaves between us and gets ready to take the pass, but Papa kicks the ball to me. I immediately lose it when Rio tackles me.

Papa shakes his head. “Rio, let Enzo have it. Give the kid a break. He’s little.”

“I'm not that little,” I protest.

“Little enough that you lost it.” Rio grins and passes the ball between him and Matteo.

It's those two versus me and Papa, and I watch, excited as Papa comes up behind them, tackles them and gets the ball before passing it to me. I speed down the garden and take a shot at the goal. It goes in.

“Goal!” I shout, throwing my hands into the air.

“Not fair!” Rio cries. He hates losing.

“Great goal, Enzo.” Papa high-fives me and my entire body lights up. Scoring a goal and having Papa be proud of me is the best feeling in the world. Then Papa does the thing we hate. He looks at his phone, and we know he's got work to do.

“Can we have another game?” Matteo begs. “Just one more.”

Papa laughs. “One more?”

We all cry in unison, and Papa agrees. I kick the ball to him, feeling overjoyed. Just one more game. We always say that, and sometimes, Papa lets us.

I love it when he comes. We never know when it’s going to be, because he surprises us each time. And I always get sad when he leaves, but by the time I forget about missing him, he's back again.

Mama says he's a very busy man. She says he works hard because he's a businessman. I don't know what a businessman is. I think it means when someone is busy all the time and is a man. It's something we are used to.

Just like we’re used to him not being here when we have things at school the other papas come to. Or when we go to birthday parties, and only Mama takes us, but mostly, with my friends, their dads take them.

Mama says not to be sad, and Papa makes up for not being here because when he does come here, we have so much fun.

We play again, and this time my brothers win. Papa wipes his forehead.

“Okay, boys. I'm hot and sweaty. I'm going to have a shower.” I go to his side and he ruffles my hair. “You played well, Enzo.”

I smile up at him. He looks at Rio and Matteo.

“How about we watch a movie later? Or maybe we'll all go out for dinner. We'll take your mama.”

“Yay!” Matteo cheers.

Papa heads inside. Mama is cooking in the kitchen while Rio and Matteo carry on playing football. I try to join in, but they won't let me. They keep passing the ball to each other and I never get a touch.

“That's not fair,” I mutter. They do this all the time. I get bored and wander back inside and into Mama and Papa’s bedroom.

Papa's already in the shower, so I perch on the bed, waiting for him. I notice his computer is lying open on the table. My spirits sink because it means he’s going to work all day long now.

He's always working. He always plays with us when he's here, and we laugh together, but he works a lot too.

I notice his jacket hanging over the back of a chair, and then I hear a little beeping sound.

I stand up and walk over. It's his cell phone.

Then I notice something sticking out of his jacket pocket.

It looks like a photograph. I wonder what it is. So I pull it out.

It's Papa.

And he's standing with another woman. He has his arm around her. That isn’t Mama.

I look closer at the photo. My eyes fall to the three little boys standing in front of them.

They're all smiling. Behind them is a big house.

Papa looks like he does now, but I don't know these people and I wonder who they are.

I've never seen that house before either.

I stare at the picture for a moment. Then I walk into the kitchen.

“Mama?”

She's stirring something on the stove. She turns and smiles when she sees me. “Yes, tesoro?”

I hold out the photograph. “Who's this?”

She wipes her hands before taking it from me. “Did you have fun playing with Papa in the garden?”

“Lots and lots of fun. Papa’s in the shower and I'm waiting for him.”

Mama’s eyes never leave the photograph, but they grow big, and her mouth falls open. She looks scared. My heart feels funny. My tummy, too. Mama steps back, her hand reaching for the wall like she's about to fall over.

“Mama?” My hands feel sweaty. “Mama, what's wrong?” I feel sick. Like I've done something terrible.

Mama doesn't say anything and I get more and more scared. I can hear my heart thumping loudly. My ears feel funny.

“Where did you get this?” she asks.

I don't like the way she says it. She sounds angry, and she doesn't smile when she looks at me. She looks sad and her eyes are watery.

I wish I hadn't shown this to her.

I wish I hadn't pulled it out of Papa's jacket.

I wish I'd listened when Papa told me never to touch his workspace.

I've done something wrong, but I don't know what I did.

“From ... from ... P-papa's jacket ... it was hanging out.” My voice disappears, barely audible.

“Does he know?”

I shake my head, and then I burst into tears.

“I-I'm s-s-s-orry, Mama.” My sobs come out so hard I can barely get the words out. “I-I was waiting for Papa.”

She crouches down until she's looking right at me. “No, no...” She puts the photo on her lap and wipes my tears away with both hands. “Don't cry, tesoro.”

She shakes her head. “It's okay.” She looks at the photograph again, then closes her eyes for a second.

“M-mama?” I start sobbing again. She puts her arms around me.

“Shush, tesoro. Shush. Don’t cry. You haven’t done anything.” She smiles at me, but it isn't her real smile. It's the smile she gives me when I've done something wrong and she doesn't want me to feel bad.

“Shall I put it back?” I reach to take the photo from her. If I put it back, things will be okay again. We can pretend we never saw this.

“No.” She moves the photo out of my reach. “I'll put it back. Don't you worry about it.” She strokes my cheek. “Off you go, tesoro,” then, as I make to move away, she reaches for my wrist. “Enzo. We don't talk about this, ever. Do you understand?”

I look into her eyes, and I keep looking into them, because this sounds scary.

“Tesoro?” Her voice sounds strange.

I get scared, but I nod. “I won't ever talk about it, Mama.”

“Good boy.”