Chapter 13 #4
His capos hang back, their presence a silent reminder that I’m speaking with Don Cristiano, head of the Montoni crime family, and the threat of violence follows him like a shadow.
Rosa’s glare could cut glass. “I can’t say the same.”
If the hostility bothers him, he doesn’t show it. His attention shifts to the playground, scanning until he finds Leon.
“I was on my way to see if you liked the flowers,” he says to me, “when I saw you in the park.”
On his way. With two armed men. To check if I liked my flowers.
“They’re beautiful,” I murmur. “But please don’t do that again.”
“I wanted to.”
“Mr. Montoni!”
Leon’s delighted shout cuts through the tension. He comes barreling across the grass, the T-rex clutched in his arms, his face lit up with pure joy.
Rosa makes a choked sound beside me.
My child. Running toward a mafia don like he’s Santa Claus on Christmas morning.
Cristiano crouches down to meet him, heedless of his expensive coat pooling on the muddy grass. Leon crashes into him without hesitation, and Cristiano catches him easily, scooping him up and settling him on his hip like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Hey, little man.” His voice is warm in a way I’ve rarely heard. A softness that seems wrong coming from a man with armed guards at his back. “Are you having fun?”
“I got presents!” Leon is practically vibrating with excitement. “Look at my new T-rex.”
I feel myself turning red at Leon’s admission that I never told my son who the presents were from. I watch Cristiano’s face carefully, looking for signs of resentment or accusation, but there’s only warmth in his expression.
He holds Leon easily in his strong arms. Natural and comfortable, like he’s done this a thousand times before. The sight does something complicated to my insides. A tangle of terror and longing and, God help me, attraction.
He doesn’t know. He can’t know.
This is why I put Leon’s contacts in every time we go outside.
But standing there with Leon in his arms, Cristiano looks like a father. Like Leon’s father. Like the head of a dynasty cradling his heir. His capos standing guard like Leon is someone worth protecting.
I feel dizzy.
“I can’t be here.” Rosa’s voice is tight. She’s already on her feet, gathering her bag, her eyes darting between Cristiano and the hard-faced men behind him. “Carly! Mason! We’re leaving.”
“Rosa—” I start.
“I can’t, Mina. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
Cristiano sets Leon down gently, smoothing a hand over his dark curls in a gesture so tender it makes my chest ache. “Don’t leave on my account,” he says to Rosa. “I just wanted to say good morning. I’ll go.”
Rosa pauses, clearly not expecting that.
I wasn’t expecting that either.
“Stay,” he says to me. Emotion flickers in his eyes. “Enjoy the park with your sister. I’ve intruded enough.”
He smiles down at Leon one more time, and there it is again, that flash of warmth that doesn’t belong on the face of a crime lord.
“I’ll see you later, little man.”
“Bye, Mr. Montoni!” Leon waves happily, completely oblivious to the discreetly armed men.
Cristiano watches him streak back to join his cousins, his gaze lingering on my son in a way that makes cold sweat break out on my back. Then he nods to me, turns, and walks away across the grass. His capos fall into step behind him, a dark formation moving through the sunny park like shadows.
I watch him go, my heart in my throat.
What does he know? What has he figured out?
Rosa watches too, her face pale, her earlier anger replaced by something closer to fear.
We stay at the park for another hour, but things are strained. Rosa keeps shooting me looks, and I feel the weight of her unspoken judgment pressing down on me like a physical thing.
That evening, I’m stirring pasta sauce on the stove while Leon sprawls on the living room floor, surrounded by his new toys. The T-rex is having an epic battle with a triceratops, complete with sound effects.
Cristiano’s flowers fill every surface. The apartment smells like a garden. A cage made of petals.
I watch Leon crash his dinosaurs together and feel the walls closing in. He still doesn’t know who the toys are from, but it hardly matters. Cristiano is building a relationship with my son, each encounter strengthening his presence in our lives.
Mama, can Mr. Montoni come to dinner?
It’s coming. I can feel it coming. And when it does, what do I say? No, sweetheart, that man who seems so nice isn’t allowed in our home because Mama is afraid of him.
Leon would never understand. He’d just know that I took something good away from him.
My phone rings. Rosa. I turn down the heat and answer. “Hey.”
“Hey.” She sounds tired. “I wanted to talk about earlier. The things I said about Cristiano at the park.”
My hand tightens on the phone.
There’s a pause. “If you say Cristiano didn’t assault you, then I believe you. I saw how upset you looked, and I wanted to say sorry. I can believe you while still not trusting him.”
Some of the tension uncoils in my belly. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”
“But, Mina, I’m never going to stop believing that he’s dangerous. The way he looks at you and acts around you is not normal.”
This is news to exactly no one, including Cristiano himself. My sister would lose it if she knew that Cristiano had tattoos of my scratches on his back or that we all but had sex yesterday.
“I know he’s not normal. That’s the last thing I need to be reminded about.”
“You know, I’ve been thinking.” Rosa’s voice becomes carefully casual. “Maybe this is a good time to start dating. Get back out there. Meet someone who is normal.”
There is no getting back out there. I used to go out with my friends, and then I had sex with Cristiano and fell pregnant. I tried a few disastrous first dates after Leon was born, but no man wanted a second date after he saw the reality of my life.
“Rosa…” I sigh, tucking my phone against my chin so I can open the packet of dried pasta.
“Remember Danny? Kevin’s friend from work? He asked about you again the other day. He’s nice, Mina. Stable. Has a good job. He’s funny.”
I vaguely recall Danny from Rosa’s birthday party last year. Pleasant face, hairy forearms, average height. He’d made a few jokes that made everyone laugh and talked to me about his fantasy football league.
“I don’t know…”
“Just one date,” Rosa pleads. “I’ll babysit. Tomorrow night.”
My sister seems to be under the impression that all I need to get my mind off Cristiano is to have my head turned by another man. Meanwhile, I’m already unfavorably comparing safe, suburban Danny to sleek, strong, and ruinous Cristiano.
“I don’t think I’m ready for this kind of thing. My wardrobe is so boring. My makeup has expired.”
“I’ll lend you anything you want. What’s the harm? If you don’t like Danny, you never have to see him again. But at least you’ll have tried to give yourself a chance at something normal.”
I think about Cristiano’s mouth between my thighs. His voice whispering, I’ve been dead for five years without you.
Normal will taste like cardboard after Cristiano. I already know that. Danny could be perfectly nice and funny, and I’ll spend the whole evening thinking about amber eyes, possessive hands, and a voice that breathes my name like I’m his goddess.
But maybe this is what I need to do. If I can sit across from a normal man and feel normal things, and imagine a future that doesn’t have Cristiano’s shadow stretching across it, I might not be as trapped as I feel. Maybe the pull toward him is just habit. Just trauma.
And there’s another reason to go on this date. A darker one.
Cristiano has been so careful. So patient. The flowers, the toys, the polite retreat at the park. He’s playing the long game, and it’s working. I’m starting to wonder if this time will be different.
But if he hears I’ve been on a date with another man, maybe he’ll show his true face. Be the monster I know he is. Because right now he’s being so goddamn careful, and I’m falling for it.
I look at Leon, happily smashing dinosaurs together on my living room floor. At the flowers filling every surface, beautiful and suffocating.
If I don’t do something, I’ll wake up one day and realize I can’t remember what freedom feels like.
“Okay,” I hear myself say. “One date.”
The casino restaurant is all velvet and gold, chandeliers dripping crystals that scatter light across tables filled with well-dressed patrons.
A jazz quartet plays in the corner, smooth and sophisticated, while somewhere beyond the frosted glass partition, slot machines chime and roulette wheels spin.
I feel exposed. Rosa’s tiny red dress clings to curves I usually hide.
The neckline plunges lower than anything I’d ever choose for myself, and it rides high on my thighs.
She did my makeup, smoky eyes and bold lips, the kind of look that belongs on a woman who regularly goes to places like this, not a single mother who spends her evenings scrubbing pasta sauce off the stove.
Danny pulls out my chair for me, which is sweet. He’s wearing a blue button-down, and he smells like supermarket cologne and fabric softener.
“I love this place,” he says, settling across from me. “Great food, and if dinner goes well, we can hit the blackjack tables after.” He grins like this is a selling point.
I smile and reach for the menu. The air conditioning raises goose bumps on my bare shoulders. I feel men’s eyes skimming over me as they pass, and I want to hunch forward, cross my arms, and disappear.
A horrible thought hits me.
Is this one of Cristiano’s places?
I look around with new eyes. The elegant décor, the deferential staff, the quiet hum of money moving through the gaming floor beyond. Cristiano owns hotels, restaurants, and casinos across the city. He could own this one.
Stop it. You’re being paranoid.
“So,” Danny says. “Rosa tells me you work at a spa?”
“That’s right. At the Grand Palazzo.” I take a sip of water, forcing myself to engage. “I’m a massage therapist.”
“That’s awesome. I bet you meet all kinds of interesting people.”