Chapter 22
Leo
I don’t know French, but the word Bianca used, I have no trouble deciphering what it means.
Papa .
Father. Dad.
She just introduced me to our son without any further preamble. Talk of being thrown in at the deep end. But then again, what else would she have said? Told him I’m a ‘friend’ of the family? What’s that going to mean to a three-year-old? I don’t think it’s hard to scar a child that age, but little kids, they also roll with the figurative punches. He’s not going to wonder where his father has been for the past three years.
A wave of anger rises in me. I lost all this time in my son’s life. I didn’t get to see him being born, didn’t get to feel him kicking inside his mother’s womb, witness his first step, his first word. I didn’t get to see Bianca’s belly swelling with my seed. There will be another pregnancy, because she is mine and I’m never letting her go, but Enzo, he’s our first. There’s so many firsts we should’ve lived together where he’s concerned.
“Let me take him to get cleaned up and we’ll come back down,” she’s saying.
I want to stop her, but she’s not going anywhere. She’ll be back. I force my heartbeat to calm as I nod, watching them go back up the stairs, the kid chattering away with her. Damn it that I don’t know French.
“He changes everything,” Mattia says.
I turn to him. A sigh escapes me. “You’re right. There’ll be hell to pay.”
“The syndicate won’t be happy. Have you thought about how we’ll go about this?”
“Coming up blank,” I bite out.
I didn’t sleep for the whole night, my head not even hitting a pillow once I got home. Though it’s not the lack of sleep that has me at a loss. I sat nursing a glass of Scotch in my father’s study during the past few hours, counting down until the sun came up, then a reasonable time to head back to Mattia’s to see Bianca and Enzo again.
I’m a father.
The thought kept rolling inside my head all along. And this definitely changes everything. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for Bianca, but I’m finding already there’s even more I would push and crush and crumble down where my son is concerned. He’s sangre —my blood, and blood calls to blood. I understand it now. Love has a place in there, too. My own father taught me that. Love and loyalty are a dangerous combination.
“We’ll have to think things through very carefully,” I tell my best friend and right-hand man. “I need to speak with my grandmother first.”
I don’t have a consigliere per se, no one filling the shoes of a Don’s trusted, older advisor. I know of no man I want in this position, but my grandma, she has the wisdom and cunning required to help me out. I’ve been relying a lot on her since I took over from my father.
Mattia nods. “Can my father help?”
A flare of rage burns through me when I think of the bastard. Without him, we wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place. Bianca would’ve been free at Mattia’s wedding, we would’ve indulged in our tryst, she’d have gotten pregnant, I’d have married her, and our son would’ve been born in my arms, not across the world from me, a secret I might never have found out about. Not only this, but I would have denied my first-born his rightful place as my heir if I hadn’t known of his existence. I know what it means to be a Don’s first son, the one he trusts to take over from him one day. Enzo could’ve grown up not knowing of his heritage, of his own family’s legacy he’s to uphold.
But pragmatism settles in the wake of the burn, icing over it. I need all the allies I can get, and I know Mattia, the man he’s become in the past four years. I wouldn’t trust him with my life if I didn’t. He calls the shots in his family now, so if he’s suggesting the old man be roped in, it means he’s the one holding the reins, not the elder.
“We’ll discuss this later,” I say as I catch a glimpse of a fuchsia-pink caftan floating down the stairs.
Unbidden, I stand as Bianca reaches the first floor, the kid on her hip again.
Seeing him this time in the clear light of day, something inside my chest clenches. He looks so much like I do in my childhood pictures. He has Bianca’s pointed chin, but otherwise, he’s a mini-me.
My son.
I can’t upend his world, I know this, but I can make it better. We don’t need time for this. Patience, yes, and lots of careful handling. But we have love overflowing for this little boy, and that’s the most important, our compass pointing to him, our north.
Bianca stops a few paces from me. Enzo lifts his head from where he’d pressed it onto her shoulder. His dark gaze peruses me with a little frown on his narrow forehead. He asks his mother something in French, and I gather it’s a question based on the inflection at the end. A question about me, since the word papa was in there.
I’m holding my breath, waiting for Bianca’s response, unable to tear my gaze from my child.
Bianca laughs. “No, his name is Leo. But you can call him papa if you want.”
Thankfully, this was in English.
“Leo like a lion?” Enzo asks then peers at me. “You a lion?”
I chuckle, even as my heart threatens to burst. This is the first time my son is speaking to me.
“Maybe I am,” I hear myself answering.
I cut a look at Bianca—she nods. Good, I didn’t fuck this up. It had seemed harsh to say no and risk killing his spirit or imagination this way. I remember my dad saying there’s no stronger thing than a child’s imagination.
I notice the stuffed toy clutched to his side. He had it with him when he slept, too. It must be like a sort of security blanket. I nod at it. “Who’s this?”
Enzo glances at the toy then back at me. “That’s Godzilla.”
My eyes go wide. Whoa! That’s a monster…but then again, the kid grew up in Japan, where the creature is a national icon.
“I’m scared of Godzilla,” I tell him. “You’re not, I suppose?”
He shakes his head.
Silence settles between us. Bianca reads the cues and smiles at me. Right, we need to take this slow and easy. We can’t rush him.
“Want pancakes, baby?” she asks him.
He squeals with joy. Mattia and I both wince, though we school our features quickly so the kid won’t see. We don’t want to kill his joy. I’d forgotten how high-pitched children could get.
“With bubbies!” he exclaims.
Bianca laughs. “With blueberries, yes.”
She goes to the pantry, taking out pancake mix, then a bowl, then eggs, milk, and a carton of blueberries from the fridge. She’s doing all this one-armed, holding the boy on one hip. I want to ask if I can hold him, but I don’t want to jump the gun. Just as much as consent is a big thing with adults, it should also be respected with children. How else will they develop solid, healthy boundaries otherwise?
“Can I help?” I instead ask.
Mattia chimes in, too. She turns to us and nods at a high-backed stool at the island.
“Watch him so he doesn’t fall,” she says as she places him between us. “I’ve ordered a high chair last night and it should be delivered later today.”
She starts on the pancake batter, and Mattia and I both gasp and age a decade in a second as Enzo suddenly leaps forward in the stool to reach for the blueberry tub on the island. We’ve got our hands braced on either side of him to make sure he doesn’t fall.
“One by one,” Bianca scolds Enzo.
We exchange a look, and I take on the duty of making sure he eats one berry at a time, swallowing before letting him take another. I wonder why, then it dawns he could choke on too many. Damn it, but looking after little kids is no small feat. Every little thing can be a choking hazard.
It’s a companionable silence as we keep an eye on Enzo and Bianca cooks at the stove. Hana’s not up yet, so it’s just us four.
A stack of pancakes makes it onto the table. Mattia gets plates. I wrap an arm around Enzo’s stool to protect him from the other side.
When a jar of creamy peanut butter makes it onto the table, I turn startled eyes onto Bianca. How did she know I like this on my blueberry pancakes? Everyone thinks it’s weird if not outright disgusting.
I’m reaching for the jar at the same time she does, and my hand closes on hers.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“Putting it on my pancakes. Why?” I ask with a frown.
She blinks at me, her wide eyes showing her surprise. What’s going on , I wonder.
Finally, she relinquishes the jar.
“Go ahead,” she tells me. “Put some on your pancakes.”
I’m still perplexed though I do as told. I’m slathering peanut butter on a stack of two pancakes when I feel a small, warm body pulling forward and pressing against my arm.
Bianca speaks up. “ Papa takes his pancakes just like you do, Enzo.”
I freeze, my hand halfway to the jar. I know of no one else who likes this combination. Across the world from me, a little boy started doing this just like me. No wonder, because he’s my son.
I stiffen some more when a little hand tugs at the sleeve of my polo shirt. When I turn to Enzo, he looks at me with big dark eyes, then he’s moving toward me. I unfreeze just enough to brace an arm against his back as he climbs onto me and plops himself onto my lap.
“ Maman says this is weird,” he says.
I’m temporarily speechless as my son starts a conversation with me. Then my wits return.
“She doesn’t know what she’s missing,” I tell him.
He giggles. His little body presses against my torso, and one hand reaches for a piece of pancake which he stuffs into his smiling mouth. In doing so, he brushes my arm, leaving a smear of peanut butter in his wake.
I can’t say I mind. I’m laughing softly, and when I bring my arm up to lick the peanut butter, Enzo giggles some more, licking his butter-smeared hand.
Laughing with my son, I can’t believe this is happening. He’s in my arms, and the way he’s leaning into me, I can feel trust in the weight of his body. My heart squeezes, and I can’t help it—I bend my head and drop a soft kiss on his sweet-smelling hair.
My gaze catches Bianca’s when I look up. Tears are glistening in her eyes, and in this moment, only the three of us exists. As it should be, for the rest of our lives.
A family is something that grounds you. I’ve heard the Dons at the table of the syndicate rambling about this on and on since I took my seat. Bullshit, I used to say. Except now, I know exactly what they mean. For this child, I’ll do anything. For my family, I will be a better man, everything I can be, the best version of me. They were right. I have a family now, and it’s with the people who matter. Enzo, of course, but Bianca. She’s the cornerstone. I would’ve done anything for my children, but my progeny with her, the woman I love? That’s the difference. That’s what those old goats didn’t get.
“Do you want to feed him?” she asks. “I can—”
“No. Let me.”
Now that I have him with me, I’m never letting him go. Family is everything. I had it with my father and my brothers, though it was never the same as when my mother was in the picture. She was happy at one point. I remember mornings at the big pine table in our family home, the twins being utter nuisances in their high chairs, my mother looking on at us boys with a soft smile, her eyes lighting up when my father joined us. The first thing he would do was go to her and kiss her soundly on the lips. I used to tell them it was gross, though I secretly relished the joy of knowing they were here, they were solid, they were my safe place.
It didn’t last…but my family? I will make it last.
Bianca shows me how to cut bite-size pieces of the pancakes then using a blunt-pronged fork to feed Enzo one bite at a time. It’s taking an eternity, my coffee she placed before me having gone cold long before we’re even done with one pancake, but I wouldn’t change anything in this moment.
Hana joins us at some point, dressed not in loungewear but in a casual jumpsuit. It’s then I notice Mattia has also changed as Hana goes around the room greeting everyone with hugs and kisses. I get a one-armed hug, the look on her face soft and reverent as she watches me and Enzo together.
“I made pancakes,” Bianca says.
“No, darling. We’re off to get brunch,” Hana tells her. She then whispers something in Bianca’s ear.
It seems to me they’re giving us the house this morning, to help us bond as a family for the first time.
“Thanks,” I mutter to Mattia.
My best friend nods, then drops his head close to my ear.
“I know you won’t ever hurt your son,” he says. “But hurt my sister again, and I will kill you myself, Don or no Don.”
My jaw clenches. Does he know who he’s speaking to? Mattia has sworn his Omertà to me, his vow of silence, his pledge of allegiance.
But right now, it’s not my soldier speaking to me. It’s not even my best friend. He’s my brother-in-law, the one whose sister I have designs on. And this makes me accept what his words are all about. I would’ve done the same had I had a younger sister. Bianca leaving and keeping our child a secret, I can’t say it didn’t hurt. It ripped me apart four years ago, and I was still in pieces when she reappeared last night, Enzo in tow, another dimension of my being battling for its place in the dismantled chaos I’d become.
It's the future that matters now. Enzo, Bianca, us three, and then my place as a Don at the syndicate’s table. Come what may, I will make it work. Nothing else matters but us three now.