Page 117 of Mafia Darling

“What about presents?”

“The presents come after the cake.”

“But he’s not here yet.”

“He’s coming, don’t worry. But we should start.”

“No,” Raffaele said, throwing more dirt. “I want to wait.”

Dio, save me from four-year-olds. “Raffaele, get out of the dirt and come here. Now.”

He brushed his hands off and ran over, his little brow furrowed in unhappiness as he stared at me. I knelt so that I was at his level. “You have to listen to me. I’m your father.”

“Mamma says she’s the boss.”

Oh, she did? I tucked that information away for later.

“That’s true, so you must listen to both of us. He will understand if we start without—”

“There he is!” Raffaele scrambled through the fence and tore past the table, sprinting as fast as his little legs would carry him toward the path.

I rose and shoved my hands in my trouser pockets, trying to hide my pleasure. Part of me longed to run to see him, too.

Giulio grabbed Raffaele and tossed him in the air. “It’s the birthday signorino!”

I pressed my lips together, the tightness in my chest nearly unbearable. My first-born son hadn’t been here in seven months, but each time he returned almost had me in tears. I knew where he lived and what he was doing, because of course I did, but we never discussed it. He was happy, which was all that mattered. He visited the castello once or twice a year, and that had to be enough for me. His life was elsewhere now.

Francesca had been the one to convince me a short visit every now and again wouldn’t hurt. She said the other mafia men were too terrified of me to ever hurt Giulio. That was probably true, but I still worried. I didn’t want my choices to ever hurt my children.

Noemi dragged Francesca toward Giulio. My daughter didn’t know her half-brother as well as Raffaele did, so she could be a little shy around him. Giulio put Raffaele down and held out his arms for Noemi. She looked up at her mother, unsure. Francesca lifted Noemi and they hugged Giulio together.

Giulio was surrounded after that, first by Zia and then Marco. Benito and Nesto came over and shook Giulio’s hand, slapping my son on the back. Finally, he caught my eye and excused himself. I hadn’t moved, merely stood by the fence and watched all the people I treasured most in this world.

Raffaele tried to follow his older brother, but Francesca grabbed the boy and took him to see his cake. I was grateful, as I always liked a moment alone with Giulio. My son looked good. Strong, fit. The haunted expression he’d worn in those last few months here had disappeared completely.

“Ciao, Papà,” he said quietly.

“Figlio mio. You are looking well.” I kissed his cheeks and hugged him.

When I released him, he gestured to my temples. “More gray hair. Is it from Raffaele or Noemi?”

“Both, most likely.” I cupped his face in my hands. “Everything is well? You have enough money?”

“Papà,” he sighed and rolled his eyes. “Stop worrying. I told you, I’m fine.”

“It is my job to worry.”

“You and Zia and Francesca. I keep telling all of you to stop.”

“We love you.”

“I know. Come on. Raffaele’s going to throw a tantrum if we don’t have cake soon.”

“We’ll catch up later? I kept that bottle of cognac you sent.”

“I brought a different bottle you might like, as well as some gifts for Francesca and the kids.”

Putting my arm around his shoulder, I led him to the table. There was cake and singing, and then Raffaele opened his presents. Paper was everywhere by the time he was done.

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