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 been seen here.
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 the whole show then.”
I swallow. “Well—”
“So that was a lie, 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 a lot,” 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Over ice cream, Sylvie is withdrawn.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.”
“I could’ve taken my seat,” I murmur. “One of my men, a low-ranking fool I hardly know, got drunk and took out his rage on his wife. He had to be dealt with. Violence, exile, recompense to the poor woman. After a job like that, Livia, I feel dirty.”
She looks at me in shock. “You don’t usually speak like this, but Mara’s changing you.”
“Maybe she is,” I say fiercely. “Is that such a bad thing?”
Livia says nothing, just continues to stare at the house.
I sigh. “I want to be the man they deserve.”
“The man they deserve?” she mutters.
I push the car door open and stride into the house. When I check on Sylvie, she’s sleeping soundly with her nightlight on, Mara nowhere in sight. I kiss her gently on the head and then go on to my own bedroom.
Sleep doesn’t come easily. Guilt gnaws at me. I was so convinced that simply being there would be enough. I should’ve listened to Mara.
Ettore: I failed her, didn’t I?
Mara: You were there. That’s what matters. Maybe next time… let her see that you showed up.
I swallow, my chest tight. She must’ve cooled off since we last spoke to each other. Or, like me, she’s able to hide parts of herself over text. That’s the magic of texting. That’s the tragedy of it too.
Ettore: I will. I’ve learned my lesson. Sometimes, I don’t feel like I belong among those people. I worry it becomes more about me rather than my daughter. People whispering to each other: Is that him? Is that Ettore Bellandi?
Mara: That’s understandable. But would Sylvie notice that? If it’s a case of you being uncomfortable so that Sylvie can feel like her dad is present, I know which I would’ve chosen.
Ettore: You’re wise beyond your years.
Mara:
Ettore: What’s that supposed to mean? You’re talking to an old man here.
Mara: Number one, you’re not old. Number two, you don’t need to compliment me. I’m just calling it how I see it.
Ettore: And how you see it keeps turning out to be right.
Mara: I’m going to try to get some sleep now. You should too.
Ettore: I will.
Mara: Try not to dream of me too much.
I look at her message for a long time, a smile on my face. She can always somehow do this to me. No matter the situation, she can make me smile like a loon. Like I never smiled before she came along.
Ettore: Impossible.
I put my phone down and lie back with my eyes closed.
And it’s true. Amidst the work crap, the mob drama, my sweet Sylvie, Mara is always there, a passenger in my mind.
As sleep finally takes me, I find myself wondering if this is what falling in love feels like.
I wouldn’t know. I’ve never done it before.
I loved Sylvie since the day she was born, but no romantic love has ever gripped me, not even for my dead wife.
The next morning, I make pancakes again.
Sylvie bosses me around as I serve hers, pointing her finger and saying, “There, Daddy.” I chuckle and carefully ladle it onto her plate.
Mara grins at me from across the table. As I sit and tuck in with them, it feels almost like we’re a little family.
Mara keeps glancing at me, and I do my best not to outright stare at her.
The silent tension makes me want to throw her over my shoulder and carry her someplace private.
Then my cell phone rings. The mood changes. Sylvie rolls her eyes like a girl twice her age, far too jaded for her years.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur.
“I know, Daddy.” She sounds tired and unsurprised. The lack of shock is maybe the worst part.
It’s Mark. I walk into the back of the estate so that I can see Mara and Sylvie through the window.
“I’m having breakfast with my family,” I snap. “What is it?”
Mark sighs. “Ettore…”
“Yeah?”
“I’ve known you for a long time.”
“I don’t need the preamble,” I say.
“I’ve never heard you like this. You get mad sometimes, sure, but you always speak to your men with respect.”
I massage my forehead. I can speak to you any damn way I want. I could say that, and it would be true. There’s nothing forcing me to be decent toward him. Except, well, my own decency.
“You’re right,” I sigh.
“Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying you’re hurting my damn feelings. No feelings to hurt. But—”
“I get it. It’s bad from a tactical point of view. I’ve never led through fear. Well, fear alone. Go ahead.”
“I looked into Mara Keene’s parents. It turns out they borrowed a great deal of money from a well-known loan shark back in the day.
I’m not sure exactly who this fella was affiliated with, or if he was a lone operator.
But I got ahold of some of his handwritten records thanks to a rat with sticky fingers.
The records mention the couple, deceased, and a woman who was Mara’s aunt, also deceased now.
There’s a note that reads, Can the daughter pay?
With a smiley face next to it. Not sure if it’s a joke or what. ”
“Handwritten records,” I murmur. “Can we trust those? What sort of idiot keeps handwritten records just lying around for anyone to snatch?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. I should have more information soon.”
Through the window, I spot Mara watching me anxiously. She raises an eyebrow as if to ask if I’m okay. I force a smile and nod, giving her a thumbs up. Her relief touches me. She cares just because. Not because she wants to get anything out of me.
“Be careful,” Mark says. “It’s my job to remind you that you’ve only known this woman for a short time.”
“Get everything you can get your hands on,” I snap. “I want all the information, not snippets. I’m suspicious about these paper records too.”
“What’s more likely, some forgetful old shark kept paper records, or that somebody planted them to make you suspicious of your nanny? What purpose would that serve?”
He’s right. Keeping paper records wouldn’t be intelligent. But this game is full of stupid people.