Chapter 21 #3
I realize now how willfully blind I’ve been. The mafia isn’t something distant and abstract in Malus. It’s real, and it’s all around me.
It’s the world I’ve been living in all along, whether I acknowledged it or not.
I take a sip of coffee. It’s perfect. Just the way I like it.
I turn over the conversation I just had with Matteo in my mind.
Despite the fear and the horror and the sick feeling in my stomach, I think I like Matteo.
I think I like Sofia as well, despite how unnerving she was for a moment, and Adora has been the perfect aunt to Leon.
They’re all in the mafia, but they’re so… normal.
I spend the morning with Leon, trying to pretend we’re on vacation. We read his favorite books. I help him build elaborate dinosaur habitats with the toys Sofia brings. We eat lunch together, and I cut his food into small pieces and make sure he takes his medication on schedule.
But I keep the curtains closed.
Every time I glance at the window, my heart races.
Part of me wants to know if Cristiano is still out there, but I can’t bring myself to look him in the eye.
If he’s still out there, and I have to assume someone would tell me if he’s not, the sight of him will make the guilt slice so deep.
He’s injured, and he’s standing out there in the cold because of me.
But why is he just standing there? Why hasn’t he tried to get into the house? Is it that the Vicis have threatened him and told him not to come any closer, or is there another reason?
I wish I knew the answers.
By midday, my nerves are frayed from the strain of not looking out the window.
I tell myself Cristiano won’t still be out there.
He can’t still be out there. He’ll have gone home, back to the mansion for the rest and recovery he so desperately needs.
He won’t stand outside for a second night in a row. That would be insane.
Adora brings us more books. Sofia comes with lunch and checks on us.
Everything is taken care of, thoughtful and kind.
I feel guilty about being brought food when I have two legs and two arms of my own, but Sofia insists that I don’t have to do anything until I feel strong enough, and that she loves having people to take care of.
Leon seems happy here. He doesn’t ask about bodies or the blood or why we left so suddenly. He just accepts that we’re visiting Adora, the kind lady who came to see him in the hospital, and he’s content.
In the afternoon, Leon takes a nap and I stretch out on the bed beside him. Not sleeping. Just watching over him. After a while, I hear the sound of rain against the window, and relief loosens my chest.
That settles it.
Cristiano will have gone home. No one will keep standing there in the rain, especially with the injuries he has. Even he wouldn’t be that foolish. He’ll have realized that by now.
I slip out of bed carefully so as not to wake Leon and move to the window. I’ll take one peek, just to prove to myself that he’s gone so I can stop worrying.
I don’t open the curtains, but I hook a finger around the edge so I can peer outside.
My stomach drops.
He’s still there.
He’s soaking wet, his clothes plastered to his body and his hair dripping. There are heavy shadows under his eyes, and he sways slightly like he’s struggling to stay upright. He looks like he’s dying.
I can’t take it anymore. With a shaking hand, I reach for my phone and dial 911.
When the operator answers, my throat is so tight with emotion that I have to force the words out. “A man is badly injured. He’s standing on the street covered in blood. He needs an ambulance.”
I can hear the operator typing. I give the address, and then add, “Please, hurry. I don’t want him to die.”
When I hang up, I stay where I am, watching Cristiano without letting him see me. Five minutes pass. Ten. Fifteen. My hand is gripping my phone so tightly that my knuckles are white. I’m about to call the operator back when finally an ambulance turns onto the street.
Cristiano shifts on his feet so he can watch it approach.
Relief pours through me. He’ll be taken to that expensive hospital where he and Leon had surgery and have his injuries looked at. Competent doctors will make sure he hasn’t torn his stitches or damaged his recovering liver.
I pull the curtains open properly so I can watch the scene unfold.
Two male paramedics approach Cristiano and talk to him. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but their concern is apparent. Cristiano gives them brief answers, and I see him shake his head.
The men take a few steps away from Cristiano, and I feel my mouth drop open. They can’t be giving up. They can’t leave a bleeding man on the side of the road.
I watch the two men discuss Cristiano, seeming to argue back and forth. One of the men pushes his hand through his hair. They approach Cristiano once more and talk for longer this time, but Cristiano is immoveable as stone, despite his sickly appearance.
After that, the paramedics seem to give up and they get back in their vehicle.
“No, no, no,” I moan.
My palm is pressed against the glass as I watch the ambulance drive away. They were my last hope.
I look back at Cristiano and see that his gaze is locked on the house. On me.
I gasp and jerk back, yanking the curtains closed.
“Mama?”
I spin around. Leon is sitting up in bed, rubbing his eyes.
“Everything’s all right, baby.” My voice comes out too high, too loud. I force it lower and calmer. “Just checking the weather. Go back to sleep.”
I give Leon a drink of water when he asks for it, but I’m haunted by what I just saw. The longing to go out there to Cristiano and beg him to stop killing himself is rising within me, stronger with every passing moment.
I force myself to sit on the edge of the mattress and smooth Leon’s hair back from his forehead.
“How are you feeling, sweetheart? Does anything hurt?”
“I’m okay.” He yawns. “My tummy’s a little sore but not too bad.”
“Good. That’s good.” I keep stroking his hair, needing the contact, needing to ground myself in something real and safe.
Leon looks up at me with those amber eyes. Cristiano’s eyes.
“Mama? When is Cristiano coming to see me?”
The question goes straight through me like electricity, and I have to fight to keep my breath even.
He’d be our page boy. He’d take it so seriously. He’d practice for weeks.
The wedding Cristiano and I dreamed up together comes rushing back. Leon in his little suit, Cristiano’s eyes shining with pride as he watches our son. The family we were going to be.
“I don’t know, baby. He’s a busy man.”
I feel terrible for lying to my son, but I don’t know what else to say. If he sees Cristiano standing outside on the street, how can I explain why any of this is happening?
“I miss him.” Leon’s voice is small. “He said we were both tough.”
My throat tightens. “You are tough. The toughest.”
“Did you see that Cristiano has eyes just like mine?” Leon’s face brightens with the realization. “And that lady who lives here does too. The pretty woman with gold hair.”
My heart is pounding now as Leon puts things together. My observant son is seeing the patterns and making connections. “That’s Adora Vici. This is her house.”
“She looks like Cristiano, don’t you think? They have the same eyes. And the same noses. Are they brother and sister?”
“Yes, they are.” I lean down and kiss his forehead. “Are you hungry? Would you like pancakes for dinner?”
The distraction works. Leon’s eyes light up. “With chocolate chips?”
“I can ask.” I stand, relieved to have steered the conversation away from Cristiano for now.
I will tell Leon everything one day. The truth about who his father is can’t stay secret forever, but right now, all I can think about is surviving.
I head downstairs, my mind still reeling. I can’t stop thinking about Cristiano standing in the rain, looking like he’s dying, and my son asking when his father is coming to see him.
The kitchen is warm and bright, a stark contrast to the gray weather outside. Adora and Sofia are sitting at the table, chatting over coffee, their manner casual and comfortable. They look up when I enter.
“Mina,” Adora says with a warm smile. “How are you doing?”
“Good, thanks,” I lie. I hover in the doorway, suddenly feeling like an intruder. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but I promised Leon pancakes for dinner. I can make them myself if you just show me where—”
“Absolutely not.” Sofia rises from her chair, already moving toward the stove. “You sit down and have some coffee. I’ll make the pancakes.”
“I don’t want to be any trouble.”
“You’re not trouble. You’re family.” Adora pulls out a chair for me. “Sit. Please.”
Gratitude, pleasure, and anxiety tangle together inside me. These women are so welcoming to me, treating me like I belong here. If I’m family, that means Leon is family too. The Montonis and the Vicis, all connected by blood and violence and secrets I’m only just beginning to understand.
The kitchen is nothing like the stark, cold kitchen at the Montoni mansion. That one is all marble and steel, beautiful but sterile, a place where my mother works with efficiency, and I was always reminded that we didn’t belong.
This kitchen is alive. Warm wood cabinets, colorful tiles on the backsplash, copper pots hanging from hooks catching the morning light.
There are herbs in small terra-cotta pots on the windowsill, their leaves bright green and fragrant.
The wooden table is worn and scarred with the marks of family meals and lives being lived.
It feels like people are allowed to laugh here, and children are able to make messes.
The smell of fresh coffee mingles with the scent of rain as Sofia sets a steaming cup in front of me, then she turns to the counter and begins cracking eggs into a bowl with practiced ease.
“He’s still out there,” I say, because I can’t stand the elephant in the room.
“We know,” Adora says gently.
“He’s suffering from all those injuries,” I cry. “What does he think he’s playing at?”