Page 71 of Merciless Monster

“Anch'io ti amo, Mamma.”

“Now get out of my kitchen. I’m busy.”

“Si, Mamma.”

16

MIA

Iwake up feeling like crap. This is my new normal. I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place. On the one hand, I miss Dante so much that my body literally aches. On the other hand, I know that if I decide to give into my feelings and move to Italy, I could very well be walking into the lion’s mouth. And this particular lion has no shortage of razor sharp teeth.

What Idoknow, without an ounce of uncertainty, is that I can’t do this for much longer. Dante calls me every day. The sound of his voice is nothing short of Chinese water torture. It’s like being addicted to heroin—I can’t wait for the next fix, and yet I know my addiction to this man and his love will most likely destroy me.

I’m not the only one who misses Dante. Angelo constantly asks me about his father and when he’s coming back. The two have forged a strong bond in a very short time. Their connection is so powerful that it scares me. It’s much more powerful than I ever anticipated it to be. I’m happy, of course, but I worry. Am I doing the wrong thing here? Keeping them apart is cruel. But the alternative is so frightening I cannot bear to think about it for too long before I have to suppress the urge to scream out at the top of my lungs in frustration.

The problem, as I see it, is that Dante De Luca is not your average suitor. Not by any stretch of the imagination. The man is a Don in the mafia, for fuck’s sake! What are the odds of me falling in love with someone so potentially lethal? How on God’s green earth did I get myself into this mess? It was supposed to be a harmless one night stand. Not a lifelong connection to a crime boss! Had I not been so mortally wounded emotionally from my disastrous breakup, I would most likely have thought twice before diving into the unknown, vagina first!

But here I am in a perpetual state of anguish. Oh, love, you fickle bitch!

I have to tell my parents the truth. They’ve been asking questions I’m not comfortable answering. Normal, yet agonizing questions about why Dante left and why I didn’t go with him to Rome. Ugh! Will this shit storm ever end?

I’m joining my folks for brunch this morning. I think it’s about time I shared my agony with someone. Gina’s been very supportive. I feel bad for shitting all over her after Dante told me the truth. I was so mad I couldn’t see her side of it. I get that she was trying to do the right thing by allowing Dante to be the one to break the news to me, but in the heat of it all I was sorely tempted to throttle my best friend.

Angelo is having a playdate with his best friend, Max, today. I’m relieved. The discussion with Mom and Dad is bound to get a little heated and I cannot worry about what my son may or may not hear about his father.

I get out of bed and head for the shower. The warm water pelting my skin goes a long way to easing my physical maladies, but they’re always there. My new companion—rage and regret, sugar coated with what ifs and blind hope.

After the attempt at washing away my troubles with scoldingly hot water, I head for Angelo’s room. He’s fast asleep. I watch him for a bit. My baby is so beautiful. I imagine what he will look like when he’s a man. He’s a De Luca alright. Mothers lock up your daughters.

“Hey, monster,” I whisper into his little ear. “Time to get up.”

Angelo stirs and makes a muffled noise.

“You’re going to play with Max today.”

My words are like lighter fuel, causing my son’s eyes to fly open.

“Yay!” he says and yaws.

“Come on. Let’s get you dressed and ready.”

“Good morning, buddy,” he says as Splash licks him all over.

“Come on, boy,” I call to the dog as I leave Angelo’s room. “Breakfast time.”

Splash follows the one who keeps him well fed, wagging his tail wildly at the prospect of a piece of bacon that may or may not end up on the kitchen floor.

“Good morning, Paolo.”

“Good morning, Mia.”

“Coffee?”

“I made a pot.”

“Oh, thank you. That was sweet of you.”

“No problem.”

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