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Chapter Sixteen- Emma
Every time my father has discussed the dangers of the Lombardi family, he reminded me how cruel they are. Ruthless. Willing to stop at nothing to fulfill their personal agenda and goals. His association with them put a target on our heads. It was part of the reason he had been so eager to send me away to university. Their reach extends far beyond the borders of New York, but every degree of separation meant more safety.
If anyone finds out Matteo is Enzo’s son, then he will become a pawn in a very dangerous game. I grew so afraid of the anonymous danger that I didn’t dare utter Enzo’s name. Matteo’s dad was an anonymous one-night stand, something close enough to the truth I don’t stutter as I lie.
I’ve spent so long afraid of the anonymous danger that I forgot about the danger I already know. And he’s making pizza with my son. Our son.
Enzo is far more dangerous than the stories my father told me because I can already feel the magnetic pull from him. He wants to keep us in his world, and if I’m not careful, I’m going to let him.
I can see it in Matteo too. The kid always has his guard up, but he has already found a kindred soul in Enzo. It’s one thing I have struggled with. I was always a hyper child. If you ask my father, he would describe me as difficult while my aunt describes me as lively. I didn’t contemplate. I was always willing to take things at face value. Matteo isn’t like that. Watching as Matteo falls into a silent rhythm with Enzo is like taking a breath of relief. Someone understands him.
Enzo has a scale, and he’s showing Matteo how to measure out the ingredients for the crust. “Mommy doesn’t use a scale,” Matteo tells Enzo as he carefully watches the weight go up. He takes his time, watching the weight move up slowly as he adds more flour to the top.
“I’m a bit of a perfectionist with my pizza, so I need everything to be just right,” Enzo tells him as he directs Matteo to pour the flour into a bowl.
“What does that word mean? Perf-perfecus…”
“Perfectionist? It means I need everything to be just right. Kind of like Goldilocks.”
My heart thuds in my chest as I watch them. Enzo is patient with him. He answers every question Matteo throws at him with ease and doesn’t hurry him along. Despite his so-called perfectionism, he never loses patience when Matteo messes up.
Matteo isn’t an affectionate child, at least not with anyone other than me. Even with me, he quickly reaches his limit with touch. I’m not the only one affected by Enzo’s magnetic force because Matteo accepts his easy, casual affection and returns it in full force. He returns each high-five with enthusiasm, straightens his spine to meet Enzo’s hand when he reaches down to mess with his hair, and happily allows Enzo to maneuver and direct him.
When they finish making the dough, and Enzo tells Matteo they have to wait for the dough to rise, Matteo suggests we watch a movie while we wait.
Together. He wants us to watch a movie together.
Enzo agrees with Matteo, not looking for my approval. Why would he? I’m his prisoner. I follow along, not wanting to make a scene and disturb the peace Matteo is feeling.
We all settle into the couch and I have to hold back a sob of relief when Matteo cuddles into my side. I almost expected him to abandon me in his excitement. He’s already becoming attached to Enzo. That’s another danger I hadn’t accounted for.
And Matteo doesn’t know who Enzo is yet.
Matteo noticed our family wasn’t like other families. Most of his friends had two parents, whether that be a mom and a dad, two moms, or two dads. Sometimes, they also had step-parents or grandparents who lived with them. Matteo never questioned it until he met a little girl who had lost her mom.
“Did my dad die?” he asked me. Death itself is a heady conversation, and one we hadn’t had yet, so I wasn’t even sure he knew what death meant. We ended up having a brief conversation about death and how not every family has a daddy, but I knew the conversation was going to come up again when he was a little older and he knew a little more. There would come a day when he would know how a baby is made and realize he didn’t come from immaculate conception.
Matteo’s eyes droop within the first twenty minutes of the movie. By the half-way mark, he’s snoring. He doesn’t take a nap every day anymore. He’s more likely to go without than he is to take one, so I figure the day must have worn on him. He is far too aware for a small child. Too in tune with my emotions. I realize my anxiety and worry exhaust him as much as it would if it were his own.
It’s part of the reason I started therapy. I don’t need to pass that trait onto him.
“Were you ever planning on telling me I have a child?” Enzo asks.
He’s technically following my wishes and only talking about this when Matteo is asleep. I guess I should be grateful for that, but I want to push the conversation out further. Hopefully, push it so far out I can escape before I ever need to have it.
“No,” I answer truthfully. Despite my unease at this conversation, I’d feel worse lying about it.
Enzo clicks his tongue in disproval. I can feel his gaze burning into me, but I refuse to look away from the TV. It’s a movie I’ve seen a thousand times, a cartoon that is one of Matteo’s favorites. Normally, I would do anything to get a reprieve from the damn movie. I can recite it line for line and it haunts me in my sleep. It’s torture, and it’s still preferable to the conversation I’m having with Enzo.
“Well, I guess this threw a wrench in your plans to deny me a relationship with my son.”
The sweet, honeyed tone he has been using with Matteo is gone. When he speaks like this, deep and threatening, I can see the danger in him. Good, I think to myself. I need the reminder the persona he shows our son is just an act.
“I plan to keep my son safe. Give him a chance at whatever life he chooses instead of trying him down to some genetic destiny,” I tell him.
“Right. Did he choose to grow up without a father? Without half his family?”
I don’t answer him. He can accuse me all he wants, but I made the choice I needed to for my son. I won't regret that.
