Mafia Obsession

Scarlet

Mom is sleeping right now, I type, awkwardly holding my phone in one hand since my other is wrapped around Mom. She’s on her side, trapping it, and I don’t have the heart to move her. So do what you need to do.

I have to keep the Family running, he replies. But trust me, I’d much rather be there with you. How are you feeling?

Between hearing about what happened to Dad and then learning he wasn’t actually my dad, my head’s spinning, honestly.

Wait, what? he texts. He wasn’t your dad?

Mom told me before she fell asleep. I think she wanted to do it while she was still high, so she didn’t chicken out. Apparently, my real dad passed away when I was little. I always wondered why he didn’t seem to want me. Now I know.

I’m sorry, angel, he sends. You deserve better than that. Birth father or not, if he committed to be a dad to you, he should’ve fulfilled that role. If a man’s lucky enough to have kids, he should do right by them.

Maybe I was a terror as a child, hmm? Did you consider that? Perhaps he had a reason to hate me.

Dark humor might not be the healthiest coping mechanism, but it’s better than lying here thinking of all the ugly moments with Dad-Philip-and all the sour looks and resentment.

Number one: I can’t imagine you being a terror. Number two: Even if you were, it’s a dad’s job to help the child improve. Not to judge. Not to resent. Not to hate. When we have kids, we’re going to do better.

I gasp, then bite down, not wanting to wake Mom. I have to reread the last statement to make sure I’ve understood him.

When WE have kids?! I text, excitement bubbling up inside of me.

When you have kids… When I have kids… We’ll try to be better than that, won’t we?

I swallow, warning myself to relax. Of course, he didn’t mean when he and I have children together. He was speaking in general terms, but that doesn’t mean my dreams will stop flying, multiplying, and bursting into the future. It doesn’t mean I’m going to forget about that vision I had-my man and me, surrounded by warmth and happiness.

When I reply, I find myself thinking of ways not to prove that I’d be a good mother-not convince him or advertise myself, but something pretty darn close. As I write out the message, I feel like I’m applying for the best job in the world.

When I’m lucky enough to have children, I type, I will do everything differently than my parents. I don’t want to criticize Mom and Dad. Well, I don’t know how to talk or think about him. I know I will be there for my children, supporting them, letting them grow, and discovering their passions. I’m never going to put the responsibility on them. Don’t get me wrong, Elio. I’m going to do my best to challenge them. If you ever had children, how many do you want?

My hand is aching from typing out this message one-handed. There’s also a pit in my stomach, an ache that tells me he will see through my message. He’s going to realize I’m talking about us. I’m trying to convince him for us, and then he will outright laugh at me.

…

Great, we’re back to this game. I try not to cringe when I see the three dots. I know he wants me. My body is still sore and tingly from the steaminess, but that doesn’t mean he wants everything. That doesn’t mean the idea of a future together isn’t ridiculous to him.

Mom murmurs in her sleep, rolling over, finally freeing my hand. I lean across and kiss her on the head. Then I stare at my phone like I’m trying to give myself eye strain.

I’ve never thought about having children, he replies.

I shake my head. But you said you were passionate about it, remember? You said it was the Italian in you.

There must be something wrong with me. Out of everything that’s happened, including Dad, this has my heart beating the most. The idea of him not wanting kids doesn’t fit into my head. Suddenly, my vision of the future starts to turn to vapor.

Yeah, that’s true, but that’s recent. I’d accepted the fact I was never going to have children. I assumed that Luca was going to continue our family’s name. That was good enough for me.

I swallow, wincing when I hear somebody walk by outside the door. After things got icy with Alessia, I wonder how long until she tells us to get the hell out of here. So far, though, everybody has left us alone.

So what changed?

His message takes a long, long time. I sit up, unable to focus. Walking to the window, I crack the curtain, looking out on the city as the sun begins to set. It’s been a long, long day of waiting, wondering, the crushing news about Dad, the confused emotions, and the clashing guilt.

Don’t ask silly questions, angel, he replies.

I grit my teeth. How is that a silly question? What does he mean by that? My soul glows when I think about him meaning everything has changed since he saw me. He saw me, and his universe changed shape as quickly and completely as mine did. Our destinies screamed like the crescendo in a song.

What’s so silly about that? I send.

Then I start pacing the bedroom. It feels as if there’s a lot at stake with his answer. Minutes pass, five, ten… Eventually, I sit down, staring at my phone: three dots, nothing, three dots, nothing. I wonder if he’s just left his phone facedown somewhere. Maybe I’m driving myself nuts for no reason at all.

Finally, he texts me again, but it’s not about children. Sorry, angel. I just got a call from Mom. She wants us all to have dinner together this evening. Apparently, my dad has insisted on it. We’re going to have a special guest.

I’m tempted to tell him I don’t care about that. All that matters is what we were talking about. The future. Family. Heat. Connection. Nothing else is relevant, but I won’t pester him about it. If he doesn’t want to talk, I can’t force him.

Do you have any idea who the guest is? I ask.

No, he replies, but she sounded stressed on the phone. I’m also suspicious about her saying Dad asked for it after what you told me.

I cringe. I don’t want to come between you and your family, Elio. I know how important it is to you.

It is, but so is the Family, with a capital F. Hundreds of men and their wives and kids rely on us. The city itself relies on us. We stop the filth from creeping in. We stop the thugs, the traffickers, and the drug pushers. If Mom is lying, I know she’d have a good reason. Or, at least, something she would see as a good reason.

So when are you coming back? I ask. I don’t want to be at the dinner before him. Sitting with Alessia would be so awkward after what happened. She probably hates me for causing her to slip up.

I’m leaving now. I’ll see you soon.Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org exclusive © material.

Okay, good, but what about children, Elio? What did you mean when you said I was asking silly questions? What about any of that? But before I can ask him this-not that I’m sure I would’ve had the nerve, anyway-Mom wakes, rolling over, rubbing her eyes.

She looks at me as though she’s startled. It’s like she thought she was still in the crack den. Or maybe she was pilled-up in her bed in her mind, thinking this was all a wild nightmare. Reaching for the bedside cabinet, she grits her teeth, then pulls her hand away like it’s burned.

It confuses me at first. Then I understand. It’s a habit. She was reaching for her pills. “I’m never taking another,” she says, looking at me with determination.

“What about withdrawals?” I ask quietly.

“They gave me some medication at the hospital,” she says. “More pills, but not the really bad ones, and I’m going to ween off these, too. I promise.”

I walk to the bed, sit, and take her hands in mine. She feels so clammy and cold. “I believe you, Mom,” I say, though I’m not sure it’s true.