Bonus scene – Daddy Adriano
I can’t tear my eyes off the cutest bundle dozing peacefully in my arms. She’s so tiny.
I’m not an idiot. Of course, I knew babies were small.
But before my daughter was born, I had never held a child.
The first time I was handed my precious little girl, the bone-chilling fear nearly paralyzed me.
I was utterly afraid that I would somehow hurt her with my clumsy, big hands.
Even now, almost two months later, I still can’t quite come to terms with how small she is. How beautiful.
“There,” I whisper as I pluck a stray dog hair from the edge of the pale-pink blanket she’s wrapped in. “Daddy will once again try to explain to the bad doggie that he shouldn’t be sleeping next to you.”
The dog in question is sitting next to the baby’s bed, not looking the least bit guilty.
Instead, he follows each of my movements with a steely, penetrating gaze.
Practically as soon as we brought our daughter home, Taffy appointed himself as her personal guard.
He won’t leave her side, insisting on constantly keeping her in his sight.
We even had to relocate his dog bed to the nursery.
“No more sleeping in the crib,” I admonish in a quiet voice. “You have your own comfy spot. Got it?”
Taffy’s lips peel back, flashing a row of sharp canine teeth at me. The message behind that “smile” is rather clear: Try removing me, and I’ll remove your hand.
The damn dog still hates my guts. But I don’t care.
The important thing is that he is absolutely crazy about both my girls.
He won’t hesitate to rip out the jugular of anyone who tries to harm my wife and daughter.
And I can’t be happier about that. But maybe I could ask Belov if he has an additional dog available.
One that comes from the same litter. One with a more normal name, perhaps?
I never take chances with my family, so doubling the protection is a good idea.
Little Gioia stirs in my arms, and I resume pacing around her room while gently rocking her. She’s usually a deep sleeper, but, at times, it takes a while before she succumbs to slumber. I’ve discovered that she likes listening to my voice while she drifts off.
“So, Daddy made a very big deal earlier this week,” I say.
“Critical for further development of our transportation routes. I’ll tell you more, but it needs to stay our little secret.
You can’t tell Mommy, okay? Your mommy doesn’t like how I handle business sometimes, and if she finds out what I did this time, she’ll be very sad.
And Daddy can never bear to see Mommy sad.
Not even a little. Mommy wants everyone to be happy.
Even the people Daddy works with. But that’s not always the best thing to do.
You understand, don’t you?” I adjust the blanket around Gioia’s neck, tucking it under her tiny chin so she’s more comfortable.
“You remember how mad Mommy got at me when she found out what I did to your no-good aunt? Even though the wicked witch deserved it? Honestly, she deserved a lot more for hurting your mommy. Your sweet mother, though, wouldn’t hear of it and made me promise to fix the mess I’ve made.
I will always keep every promise I make to you and your mom, you know that.
But you and I, we’ll just have to find another way to make your mommy’s half sister pay, won’t we? ”
My daughter yawns and cooes adorably before burying her tiny nose in my arm. That simple move fills my heart with warmth and so much love that I worry my rib cage won’t contain it all.
“The nutty old fool really was right,” I mumble.
Six months after Barty’s death, a special letter was delivered to our door. It was postmarked on the day he kidnapped my wife. It contained his final dorky remarks for me, something he was all too fond of tossing my way at the end of our sessions.
Dear Adriano,
Human beings gravitate toward light. None of us can fully dwell in absolute darkness without a piece of our soul beginning to grieve.
Your body has been whispering this truth to you for years.
Once you finally accept that you are worthy of the light, the pain will cease.
There won’t be a further need to transmit the message.
In other words, your migraines will stop when you’re no longer being a bullheaded idiot.
PS: Yes, I know I was right.
Dr. Bartholomew Shaw
Crazy fucker.
“Hey.” Iris comes up beside me. “Is she asleep?”
“Yeah.” Carefully, I lay the sleeping Gioia in her crib and then wrap my arms around my wife’s waist.
“And since the hellhound is on duty,” I whisper as I pick up and carry my lovely flower toward the door, “we can resume our earlier discussion, Little Iris. The in-depth negotiation between my tongue and your pretty pussy.”