Chapter 15 Angelica
ANGELICA
Istand at the counter in the kitchen helping Marta prepare a simple meal—roasted chicken with potatoes and vegetables.
There's bread warming in the oven, and the scent fills the space and makes it feel like home.
I'm not sure whether I enjoy that or not.
Dante is here with us for dinner most nights when he can, but this evening, he's invited a few of his closest men to join us too.
It's almost a little too much like we're a family now.
It makes me uneasy sometimes.
Sofia sits at the counter with her colored pencils spread across the surface.
She's drawing another picture for the refrigerator.
This one shows the Christmas tree with all of us standing around it.
She's drawn herself in the middle with Dante on one side and me on the other—a happy family.
That's how she thinks of Dante now.
It's been long enough that she's adjusted to this environment, and I've told him repeatedly how much I don't want that to happen. Yet here we are.
"It's beautiful, Piccola," I tell her, but inwardly, I'm cringing.
There are so many conflicting emotions inside my head right now.
Sofia deserves a family, a father and mother who are happy together and raising her in a loving environment.
And Dante really is so good with her, gentle and compassionate even if he is a bit awkward at it.
But there are just as many reasons this is a bad idea.
He could expose her to things her immature mind isn't ready for, and worse, what if he just doesn't come home one day?
"You like it, Mama? That's you and Papa." She grins a wide, toothy smile and I have to look away to hide my shock.
She usually calls him Dante.
It's the first time I've heard her call him Papa.
"So beautiful…" I repeat, but I have to clear my throat because I almost choke on the words.
Marta eyes me but continues to stir the vegetables and doesn't say a word.
The door to the kitchen opens and Dante walks in.
He's dressed casually in jeans and a dark sweater.
He looks relaxed and at ease, not tense and thankfully not showing any blood anywhere on his body.
It's something I've chastised him about a number of times and it appears he's getting the message.
"Something smells good," he says, walking past Sofia on his way to the stove where we stand working.
Marta smiles at him. "Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes."
His direction changes and he walks to the counter and picks up one of the saffron buns left over from St. Lucia's Day.
He takes a bite and nods approvingly. "I'm so hungry, I can't wait. Hope this doesn't spoil my dinner."
"Now don't go ruining your appetite. Angelica has cooked a delicious meal for you," Marta says.
He turns to me with appreciation and respect on his face. "You have many talents." He looks impressed, though I'm not sure why.
I've cooked dinner for myself and Sofia every night for six years.
I'm not helpless.
I can't even make eye contact right now.
My heart feels like it will never be rid of this emotional struggle. "It was just a recipe Marta showed me."
"Don't be modest. It smells delicious." He moves to where Sofia is sitting and leans down to look at her drawing. She holds it up for him to see with a proud grin.
"Who's this?" he asks, pointing to the figures.
"That's you and me and Mama. We're all together for Christmas. See the tree?"
He studies the drawing for a long moment.
Then he reaches out and ruffles her hair gently. "It's a beautiful picture."
Sofia beams at him, and the way she looks at him makes my heart ache.
She adores him.
She trusts him completely.
And watching him interact with her in such a natural fatherly way makes me swoon despite my better judgment.
It's like my thinking mind goes out the window as soon as I'm reminded that he has a human side and that he's not a complete monster.
I hate myself for it.
I hate that I am softening toward him while starting to believe this could work.
I hate that part of me wants to stay here and build a life with him because I know it's not safe.
At any moment, something cataclysmic could happen to take it all away, and that's a sort of trauma I don't want Sofia to have to live through.
"It'll be done soon," I say, hoping to shoo him out of the kitchen and away from Sofia.
I can't bear to continue watching them bond when I've already made up my mind.
We cannot stay here, not a single day longer than is necessary.
He nods and leaves the kitchen.
Marta continues preparing dinner while I help Sofia clean up her drawing supplies.
We move to the dining room when everything is ready.
The table is set for six people.
Dante sits at the head with Sofia on his right and me on his left.
Rico, Enzo, and Luca take the empty seats, making this a full table for the evening.
I wonder how often he invites his solders in for dinner or if he's only done this to show me they, too, can be good men.
The men are polite and respectful.
They ask Sofia about her drawings and the nativity scene.
They compliment the food.
They keep the conversation light and avoid any mention of business.
It feels almost normal.
Like we're just a family having dinner with friends.
Sofia chatters happily about Christmas plans and what she wants Santa to bring, and Dante listens and responds with patience and warmth. I watch him and feel my walls crumbling.
Halfway through the meal, a guard appears in the doorway.
He looks tense.
He catches Dante's eye and gestures toward the hallway.
Dante sets his napkin down and stands.
"Excuse me for one moment," he says politely, and to add more weight to it, he kisses my forehead before walking away.
He moves to the doorway and speaks with the guard in low tones.
I can't hear the full conversation, but I catch enough words to understand.
Some other catastrophic attack has happened—burning a truck—and I brace myself for the surge of anger that will surely come when he tells us he has to rush off to deal with it yet again.
My stomach drops.
I glance at Sofia to make sure she is still occupied with her food.
Then I look at the men across the table.
Rico and Enzo exchange a glance.
They know what it means too, and they shovel food into their mouths faster now.
Dante returns to the table after a few minutes.
His expression is calm but his jaw is tight.
He sits down and picks up his fork like nothing happened.
"Everything alright?" I ask quietly.
"It's handled," he says, but then he lifts his eyebrows at Rico who’s already poised to stand. "Go on and help. Just report to me when it's finished."
His men stand and excuse themselves, downing their wine quickly before heading out.
Sofia watches them leave and turns to Dante. "They have to work like you do sometimes?" she asks quietly.
"Yes, but I don’t have to work tonight. I get to be with you." Dante reaches out and touches his fingertip to her nose, and she giggles.
"Can you read to me tonight again? I like the funny voices." Sofia's legs are swinging so hard under the table that the whole thing shakes, and I find myself relaxing again.
I realize he's making an attempt to balance his world with ours.
He's trying to be present for Sofia while still managing the war closing in around us.
I stare up at him in wonder because what other man on this Earth would shift his entire world to make things better for a woman he barely knows and a child who's been kept from him for years?
Dinner continues with banter and fun stories for Sofia until her plate is clean and she's rubbing her eyes.
I'm glad for it because it gives me a moment to withdraw without feeling guilty that I'm doing the same thing as him by leaving dinners where I should remain.
"Time for bed, Tesoro," I say.
"Can Dante take me?" she asks.
Her eyes are wide, eyebrows lifted so high they vanish under her curls, and I sigh.
Dante doesn't even ask me if he can this time.
He just picks her up and sets her on his hip before walking back to my side of the table so she can kiss me.
"Goodnight, Mama," she murmurs while Dante bends for Sofia's lips to press on my head.
"Goodnight, Amore," I tell her, feeling slightly uncomfortable with all of this.
Maybe I'm being irrational and letting my fears take over.
Perhaps there really is a way for Dante to make good on his promises to protect us and give Sofia a good life.
And the more I'm seeing him, learning about him, interacting with him, the more I hope and pray that's true. But deep down, I know a tiger never changes its stripes.
Dante is a man of war, and darkness dwells in him.
The light that Sofia brings to his life can vanish just as quickly as the sun sets, leaving us trapped in his violent shadow, and I know that's a horrible place for a little girl to be.
Not to mention my heart…
How would I ever be able to reconcile falling in love with a killer?
What would that say about me?
What does it say about me?
Because as much as I want to hate him and keep him at arm's length, I'm finding that Dante Santonelli might just be one of the most incredible men I've ever met and I'm falling for him hard.
I need to get away before it's too late and my heart is forever changed.