Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 151410 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 757(@200wpm)___ 606(@250wpm)___ 505(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151410 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 757(@200wpm)___ 606(@250wpm)___ 505(@300wpm)
“I missed your early morning nagging the most.”
She slapped my chest again. “Get out of your shirt at least, if you don’t want to go up and change.”
I pulled my shirt up over my head and draped it over a chair. Mom’s eyes immediately registered the tattoo on my chest.
“What—” She went silent as realization settled on her face. “You have a lot of work ahead of you if you want to win her over.”
“I know.”
The door banged open again, and Alessio and Massimo walked in.
They both noticed the tattoo of course.
“Back to cause trouble, I see,” Alessio said with a shake of his head and clapped my hand before he pulled me in for a brief hug. Then it was Massimo’s turn. His expression remained tight. I supposed the thing with Carlotta troubled him.
“Good work,” he said. “Even Dad couldn’t have done a better job.”
“I would have tried to talk him out of this emotional display,” Nino said as he came in followed by Kiara. My return must have made the rounds.
“You have emotional tattoos,” I reminded him, which he pointedly ignored.
“You didn’t stop him when he disfigured his privates with a bull,” Gemma muttered from the doorway with a head toss toward Savio behind her.
Fuck, how I missed the Falcone banter. Always a little too honest. With a howl, Giulio barreled into the kitchen and flung himself at me. I grunted from the impact and chuckled at his excitement. The little shit drove me up the walls more often than not, but he was my favorite to do so. “You missed your favorite prank victim, I see.”
He grinned up at me. I’d probably fall victim to him often in the next few days.
Being reunited with my family made me realize why I’d often felt this hollowness in my chest while I’d been away. It was almost gone now, and what remained could only be filled with Aurora and Battista.
After his midday nap, I cuddled longer than usual with Battista. Maybe I was overreacting, but I was really worried the Falcones would decide to take him from me so he could live under the same roof with Nevio. Eventually, I couldn’t postpone Nevio meeting his son anymore, and deep down, I knew it was the only right thing to do, to give these two a chance to form a bond. So far in his short life, Battista had spent hardly any time with his father, and I really hoped it would change now. Dad was such an important part of my life. I couldn’t imagine being without him.
Battista was good on his feet, so he and I walked over to the Falcone mansion, his small hand secured in mine. My stomach coiled tightly when I slipped through the open French windows into the common room where Nevio waited for us. He sat on the sofa, bent forward, his arms propped up on his thighs, looking thoughtful. This side of Nevio was new and surprising. I really hope it meant he’d grown up.
He looked up and smiled a honest smile, then pushed to his feet. “Hey, Battista.”
Battista didn’t remember him, which wasn’t surprising as he’d only spend very little time with Nevio in his life and hadn’t seen him in a while. At Nevio’s attention, Battista pressed himself against me and tugged at my clothes, his request to be picked up. I bent down and lifted him into my arms. He pressed his cheek against my chest and regarded Nevio from there.
Nevio didn’t try to approach us. “You don’t remember me, right?”
Battista only stared. He wasn’t a talker, could only say about twenty words, and never when you expected him to. His motor skills were definitely his strength.
I wasn’t exactly sure what to say. Should I introduce Nevio as his father, or would that confuse Battista at this point and make everything worse? I’d often told him stories about his dad, that he had to leave for a while—something I’d always hoped—to be a hero. A white lie because Battista needed a hero in his life, even if Nevio hadn’t gone to fight for a good cause. He’d gone to help the Camorra in Italy. He’d also run, but Battista didn’t need to know that.
Nevio motioned at something beside the armrest of the sofa, a ride-on car that looked a bit like his Ram. “I hope you like trucks.”
Battista lifted his head off my shoulder, definitely interested. “He loves cars, and diggers, tractors, forklifts, trucks…” I grinned down at Battista. I would have never thought I’d ever spend so much time looking at images of construction vehicles and dinosaurs…
When I looked up, I caught Nevio staring at me.
“Do you want to ride it?” he asked after a moment.
Battista gave a small nod, so I put him down on the ground. He grabbed my hand and tugged me toward the car. Once there, he mounted it and started racing through the living room with it. He bumped against pretty much every piece of furniture, but that only seemed to make him happier, judging by his boisterous laughter.