Secret Babies for the Italian Mafia Boss: Chapter 5

I find it difficult to get out of bed today.

My life has changed drastically in the past week. I haven’t been through this many changes since my dad kicked me out.

He died six days ago.

And I’m devastated.

I didn’t think I’d be. I was so used to being without him that it was like he was dead.

Reality is different.

My dad died, and we ended on indifferent terms. He did get to meet his grandchildren. It’s the one thing I did for him, which was more than he had ever done for me in the last five years. While I wasn’t completely comfortable with him meeting Olivia and Oliver, I made it happen because I knew I had to be better than the rage he made me feel. Seeing the kids with him and seeing my dad smile through the illness that consumed him was nice.

I press my hands against my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to subdue the tears. There was so much resentment between us over the last five years, but right now, I remember when he told me he loved me.

The times he kissed me on the forehead.

The times he wanted Marco to protect me.

The times when I was little, and he tucked me into bed and read me a bedtime story.

All those memories are bombarding me, and I don’t know how to deal with them. I haven’t thought of them in years.

“Mommy? What’s wrong? You want my teddy?” Olivia hands over the teddy bear she’s had since she was a newborn. It’s still in pretty good condition, but it’s missing an eye.

“I’d love your teddy. I’m just sad, baby. I’ll be okay. We have to get ready to go. Okay? It’s time to take a bath.”

“Where are we going?”

“We’re going to go say bye to someone that was really important to me.”

“Is that why you’re crying?”

I don’t answer. Instead, I nod because I know if I answer, I’ll sob. I have to remain strong for them. They have never seen me cry, and I want to keep it like that.

They don’t know about my dad. I never said a word to them about him, so they are spared the pain of missing him.

It all happened so fast. Coming here. Seeing Dad again. Talking to him. Trying, maybe, to mend a bridge, and I barely had time to process it all.

Then he died.

He died thinking I hated him.

I did.

But I loved him, too, and there’s a fine line between love and hate.

A knock on the door sounds, and I stand from the bed. We’re staying in an apartment above the bakery. Dad offered me to stay at the estate, to have that big house, but I declined.

I want nothing to do with it, and it’s important that I stand on my own two feet like I have been. So I rented out the space from my dad. I don’t know who I’ll pay rent to now, but I’ll figure it out.

“Why don’t you get the bath ready, and I’ll be there in a minute to help?”

Olivia tilts her chin to her chest and twirls her hair around her finger. “Mommy, I’m a big girl. I don’t need your help.” She huffs, spinning on her heel and stomping to the bathroom.

“Well, excuse me!” I shout as she closes the door.

“You’re excused.” Her voice is muted by the flow of water filling the tub.

How is that my kid? When did she become so sassy? And how is she so damn smart?

Another knock sounds, and I walk down the hall, grab the door handle, and open it.

Cora is standing there in an all-black outfit.

“You’re here.” I throw my arms around her neck and hold on tight.

“Of course I am.” She squeezes back. “Jasmine says she wishes she could be here, but she’s in Europe. She isn’t able to come to the states right now.”

“It’s okay. That’s okay. I’m glad you’re here.”

“How are you feeling?” she asks, taking a step inside.

“Sorry about the mess. We’re still unpacking.”

“I don’t care. I’m just glad you’re home. I can’t believe what your dad did to you. I can’t believe you’ve been all alone.” Her voice breaks, and I take her hand as she shakes her head. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s okay.”

“It isn’t. You raised two kids on your own. That had to be hard.”

“It is,” I say, glancing over my shoulder to Oliver, who is watching TV. “But it’s amazing. I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

“And the father is…” she lifts a brow. “Luca, right?”

I nod. “They don’t know, and he doesn’t know. I didn’t exactly get a chance to tell him.”

“You have to now, you know that, right? You’re here. He deserves to know he has kids.”

“I’ll tell him when all this with my father is over. One thing at a time.”

“Well, whatever you want me to do, I’m here for you. I’m happy to watch the kids when you need me to. I’ll be the coolest Aunt Cora ever.”

“I don’t doubt that.” I grab a black dress on a lone hanger in the closet and exhale while staring at it. “It’s surreal that this is happening.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, sitting on the couch against the wall. “I can’t imagine what you’re feeling.”

“I don’t know.” I get dressed, slip on the dress, then look in the mirror while I clip my hair back. “I can’t figure out what I’m feeling.”

The bathroom door opens, and Olivia comes out in a towel. It’s wrapped around her body, and she has another wrapped around her hair.

Sassy.

Cora chuckles.

“I’m done, Mommy. I told you. I’m a big girl.”

“And you were right.” I get her dressed, a simple black dress like mine, nothing special, and I braid her hair into pigtails.

There’s no time for Oliver to bathe, so I dress him in a black shirt and pants, then wet his hair to style it.

“Are we ready to go?” I ask, snagging my purse.

“Why are we dressed so sad?” Oliver asks, grabbing Cora’s hand as we walk out the door.

Cora’s face beams with excitement.

“This is what you wear when you say goodbye to someone.”

“It’s boring. If someone needs to say bye to me, I hope they wear a Captain America costume. That would be so cool,” Oliver says, walking in a straight line.

He’s literally placing one foot directly in front of the other.

A car is waiting for us when I get downstairs, and Andrew is there, opening the back door.

We climb inside, and the kids play with one another to pass the time, but before I can form a thought, we are already pulling into the cemetery.

The number of cars is in an endless line. I can’t count the number of people crowded around his grave. As I walk, I hold Olivia in my arms, and Cora has her hand in Oliver’s. A light rain begins to fall, matching the mournful mood.

Umbrellas open, a big void of black depressing me further.

When I get to the front, I sit down, and the kids sit next to me. The rain drips down my dad’s casket, and my attention is locked on each drop. They remind me of tears.

For a casket, it’s nice. Gold rails and polished oak wood. The thought of being buried scares me. The thought of my body being trapped in a box, underground, is really unsettling. I want to be cremated and tossed into the air instead of taking up space.

“A leader isn’t someone who leads, but someone who cares about the cause he is leading,” the priest begins, and it takes all I have not to be bitter and scoff.

My dad only cared about himself, which only changed toward the end.

While the priest talks, I look around to see if I notice anyone. Marco is here, and he gives me a sad, tight smile. He’s older, grayer around the temples, and has wrinkles around his eyes.

And then my attention lands on him.

I gasp so loud that the priest stops talking for a moment before starting again.

Luca is staring right at me. It’s intense. His blue eyes pierce through the rain and lock onto me.

“Grief is heavy, but one does not have to carry the weight alone,” he preaches to the crowd, patting my shoulder.

Internally, I roll my eyes.

I’ve been carrying around weight by myself for years. It’s made me stronger.

“Oh my God, he is here,” Cora whispers from the side of her mouth.

“I know.” I can barely breathe while I look at him. I can’t bring myself to break the connection. He looks so handsome. He’s wearing a black peacoat, dark slacks, and an onyx shirt. Rain is catching in his dark hair, and there’s a shadow of stubble on his cheeks.

His eyes fall on Olivia and Oliver, but it doesn’t seem to register that they are his children.

I have to ignore him.

The only thing on my mind is getting through this day.

Luca was supposed to be in the past with my dad, but here he is, and I can’t help but wonder if there is a chance for us.

Or maybe it died, and I’m burying that six feet under, too.