Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
It couldn’t have been that bad if I walked out of that place. I need to stop this, somehow. Purge all the darkness. Maybe with Mia, I can be better, be different. I can’t see her as the cure for everything, even if she feels that way to me.
When I walk into Ma’s hospital room, the world gets brighter. She’s sitting up, a big, tired smile on her face. “Oh, Dante,” she says.
I go to her bedside, gently take her hands, and sit down. “I’m here, Ma.”
“Did I scare you?” she says.
I try to laugh, but it comes out sounding almost like a strangled sob. There’s too much on the surface, bubbling, boiling emotion. It’s more than I’ve ever had to handle.
“Yeah, Ma,” I say. “I think…” I take a breath, but I’ve got to think of her. “It’s time we talked about getting you somewhere more stable to live.”
Mom nods, a tear sliding down her cheek. “We can do that, Dante. Then you can go, live, and find a girl.”
“I may have found someone,” I say, which is a mistake.
It just comes out, my voice getting heavy with emotion.
It’s almost worth it, even if I know there’s not a happy ending for us. Holding her last night made me feel something different, something new. It was like she changed me just by being there, just by being her.
“Who?” Mom says.
“I… She’s younger than me,” I say.
“How much?”
I swallow. “Maybe half my age. She’s nineteen.”
Mom’s eyebrows shoot up. “What’s her name?”
“M… Amelia,” I murmur, realizing I can’t share the real name in case we run into her again. I’m not ashamed of Mia, the furthest thing from it. If it weren’t for this mafia life, I’d tell the world about us, whatever that means, whatever we are.
“What a wonderful name,” Mom says.
I smile like a little kid. “Yeah, she has got a perfect name,” I say.
“You sound smitten.”
“You sound high on these pain meds, Ma.”
“Dante, I’d love to meet her. I don’t care about age gaps. I don’t care about complications. If I could see you settled down, with a wife, a baby on the way…”
I lean back in my chair, letting go of her hands. She knows I don’t like talking about this.
“Ma, I’m sorry, but you need to get that idea out of your head. I’ve told you for years now.”
“Don’t you want a family?”
“Why would I?” I snap. “Ma, you don’t know how dark this world can be. Believe me.”
“I know plenty, Dante.”
I sigh. I want to take her hands again. I’m being a bad son by making our first interaction after she woke up negative. I’m being an ass.
“I’d just love for you to have a baby, a little boy or girl. Then you’ll know what it’s like to feel this love.”
I grit my teeth. “It’s a risk calculation, Ma. There are bad people in this world. Evil. I can’t expose innocent people to that.”
“Expose them to… but you’d protect them!”
“Ma, please…” I lean forward and touch her arm. “Just relax.”
“You would,” she presses.
“If I had kids, in this hypothetical world, yes, I’d try to protect them. But sometimes, Ma, one man isn’t enough.”
“What if it was Amelia?” Mom says, making me think of Mia and how I left her this morning, her pale hair spread across the blanket, a soft smile on her face. My skin was still warm from our embrace, where I’d put my cheek against hers.
“I’ll always protect her,” I say fiercely.
“You’ll feel the same about your children, but so much more love.”
“Maybe I don’t need all that love. Ma, please, let’s talk about something else. This is a happy day.”
She sighs, then nods. “It’s going to rain soon, I think,” Mom says, looking out the window.
The atmosphere has turned frosty, but what am I supposed to tell her? Because she had a medical emergency, I’m going to rethink everything I know about the world? About people?
“You could make her your Lasagna al Forno,” I say. “I bet she’d love that, Ma.”
Mom smiles. “Yes, I might do just that. Do you think they’ll let me cook at the home?”
I swallow. I need to grow up, some would say. Sometimes, it was like my mind was stunted the day I killed my dad. The day I bashed in his head with a hammer. The day I stood over him, I felt that slight shiver of pride burst in me—something good, finally, a warm feeling. It didn’t start as business for me.
“He deserved it, Ma,” I’ve said countless times and her response is always the same.
“Don’t talk about that.”
“It’s just the truth,” I always tell her. “I don’t need to sing a damn song about it, but we both know it is.”
She doesn’t like to talk or think about the paths our lives have taken since that fateful day. The Family saved me, employed me, and covered for me. They sympathized with my situation. They helped me from the start when Mom got sick. The Family means something, but Mia means more, somehow.