Chapter 2
MATTEO
“Damn!” Dante whispers from behind me, staring at the paintings I’ve created of our family.
I had promised to paint each of them something, and I’ve been working on the artwork for a while. And today, while Aida is with her father, I decided to show them what I’ve made.
It’s crazy to believe that not only do I have my own home, but that my brothers are in it. I got so used to the basement, it was home to me, as fucked up as that sounds. But this place, with Aida, it’s home because she’s here and we’re happy.
“He’s like fucking Picasso, man,” Enzo adds, bewilderment laced in his tone. “Like legit, you’re good, bro. You should have your own gallery. Those rich folks would eat this shit up.”
I eye him from over my shoulder, arching a brow. “No.” I shrug it off. “Who the hell would want art by a nobody?”
“Every somebody was once a nobody. And you”—he claps me hard around my shoulder—“you’re far from a nobody. You’re a damn Cavaleri. And our name means something in this city.”
I let out a calming breath. “I wouldn’t even know how to make that happen.”
“Do you want it?” Dom asks, his eyes trapped with sincerity. “Just say the word and we’ll make it happen.”
I turn to face the multitude of colors, together forming the faces of my parents, my brothers and me too. We’re at the bakery in this one. It was an old photo; one we were all in together.
Could I really have my own place? To paint, to sketch what I want and make money for it? My own money?
Maybe. I do know I don’t want to run the business with my brothers. They already know that. It’s not for me. But Dom still insisted my name be added to the board of their nightclub chain, but I don’t actively participate.
This is what I love to do. Watching as a blank canvas comes to life. That’s what I love. Painting and drawing, it’s my therapy. It’s how I get through the reminders of the life before. I become one with it—my mind going elsewhere, while my hands do the work.
“So what do you say?” Enzo asks. “You want to be some fancy-ass artist or what?”
I let out a chuckle. “Yeah, I think I do.” I nod.
“Good.” Dom takes out his cell and starts typing. “I’ll have my secretary look for possible spaces. Give me a few days.”
“I’m not in a rush. I’ve learned to be patient.”
I return to my art, staring at all four pieces—one for Aida and me as well. I had each of my brothers go through the photos we got from Mrs. Cuzamano and pick their favorite so that I could replicate it for them.
Finding those photos, it has given us something we never thought we’d get back—a piece of the past. Something we can hold on to, even while so much has been ripped away.
“Incredible.” Dante practically chokes up, tracing a finger over Mom’s face. We were at the carnival, my mouth smeared with chocolate. I wish I had remembered that day, but I was too little.
“Thanks,” I tell him, my eyes going to the one I created for myself.
It’s a simple one. My parents on the sofa, my brothers and me fooling around on the floor right at their feet, none of us looking at the camera.
But Mom and Dad didn’t care. They were staring at each other with so much love, I could feel it.
And I knew instantly, I wanted that kind of love in my house forever.
AIDA
“How’s Matteo doing?” Dad asks, passing some of the mashed potatoes Emma, his wife, had made for dinner. “Why didn’t he come with you?”
“He wanted to”—I grab a platter filled with roast beef and add it to my plate—“but he had to do something with his brothers.”
“Well, you make sure you tell that fine boy I asked about him, okay?” My father’s grin is wide when he talks about my husband and it makes my heart swell, knowing the two most important men in my life get along so well.
“I will, Dad.”
I finally take a bite of the food. “The roast beef is wonderful, Emma.” I give her a smile.
“Thank you.” Her mouth thins and her face lights up. Her attention then wanders to Noah. “Use a napkin, not your sleeve, please,” she quietly scolds my half brother. He rolls his eyes at me with a small grin while I let out a quiet laugh.
“I saw that,” Emma teases us, shaking her head, her eyes gleaming with joy. I can see why my dad married her. She’s kind, a genuinely good person. She welcomed me into her family like it was nothing.
My father and I missed out on a lot. All the memories we could’ve made. But I won’t take the present for granted. It’s what we have. And if we don’t stop and appreciate it, we’ll miss out on living. Because nothing is guaranteed—not the seconds, not the minutes, and definitely not the days.
Once dinner is over, I help them clean up, washing dishes as Noah dries them. Emma brings out chocolate cake while Dad places a freshly made apple pie on the table.
Drying my hands, I get set to join them but, on the way, I stop in the hallway filled with photos of them.
Except now, there are photos of me and Matteo too.
Some are from the wedding, some from the ones we took during our honeymoon on the island.
But my favorite one is of Dad and me, him walking me down the aisle, stopping right before I meet Matteo.
His hands, they hold my face, tears in his eyes as he gazes at me.
My palm rests over the center of my chest. I feel those emotions as though they’re happening all over again.
“I love that one too.” Dad suddenly appears.
Wiping a tear from under my eye, I look to him, the kindness sprinkled all over his face.
What would my life be like if we hadn’t been kidnapped?
If I grew up being raised by a man such as him?
I’ll never know that, but yet I dream of it.
I close my eyes and I imagine it all, and it hits me in this moment.
The aching of my soul. My heart as though sliced open.
It should’ve been me in this house with him and Mom. We should’ve had a life together.
“Oh, Daddy,” I cry, flinging my arms around him as I let the pain take me away. I find comfort within the arms of a man I never got to love, loving him now, in these fleeting moments.