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“How come your father didn’t tell anyone?” Or did they just keep it from me?
“He doesn’t know. Nobody does. Alvize was too scared of Dad’s reaction, so he was happy to keep it a secret when I asked him. When I lay there in my own blood, I realized that I’d missed so many opportunities, not to kill and torture, but to spend time with you and Battista, to show you what you mean to me, and I realized I needed to go home to you and my family.”
I licked my lips nervously. His words hit me right in the feels, but I didn’t want to dissolve into an emotional puddle.
Nevio pointed at the lights tattoo then at the B. “I didn’t get these tattoos to impress you and make you forgive me. I got them because they were my only way to take you and Battista with me safely. To remind me of why I was trying to get my demons under control.”
Battista waited beside the pool, watching us expectantly. I was glad for his presence, for the distraction it offered, because part of me wanted to sink into Nevio’s strong arms for his words.
Nevio leaned closer. “If I could have tattooed you onto my heart, I would have done it. I would have cut open my own rib cage so the tattooist could reach it,” he murmured, then pulled back and moved over to Battista, leaving me there to catch my breath.
“Do you need my help with the water wings, buddy?” Nevio asked as he squatted beside Battista, who sent me a questioning look. He’d removed his water wings as he often did. I gave him a smile then nodded, and he handed Nevio his water wings in reply. I turned my back on them, trying to calm my racing heart.
I didn’t have any tattoos of Nevio or Battista on my skin, but I carried them with me anyway.
“I’ll catch you, don’t worry,” Nevio said, followed by a loud splash and Battista’s high-pitched laughter.
I glanced over my shoulder. I never allowed Battista to jump into the pool. All the men in the Falcone and Scuderi household always joked I was hovering too much like a mother hen. My first instinct was to say something to Nevio, to make my standpoint on water safety clear, but Battista was his son, and if he really wanted to step up and be a real dad, I needed to give him room to do so.
I sank down on the sun lounger and watched them play wildly in the water. They seemed to enjoy the same boisterous activities.
Nevio’s words kept replaying in my head. I’d sworn I wouldn’t forgive him. But thinking about how he’d almost died, my throat felt tight. I didn’t want to live without him. That didn’t mean I would forgive him easily, but I would give him a chance to prove himself one last time.
Patience wasn’t my strong suit, and it would never be. I burned up with desire for Aurora, wanted nothing more than to bury myself in her again, but she wanted to see if I was really willing to commit, and jumping her like a randy teenager even if I felt like one, wouldn’t get the right message across. I’d just have to live with my blue balls for a while longer.
I allowed her a few days to come to terms with my return and used the time to resume my position in the Camorra, and prove to Dad that I was up for whatever task he had in mind for me. I spent time with Battista every day, first under Aurora’s watchful eyes—she obviously didn’t trust me with him yet, but today I got the chance to be with him on my own for the first time. Aurora had to work in our hospital, where she’d started her training as a nurse. I was glad she had chosen to stay within our world and not start college for a nursing degree.
“Are you sure you’ll be fine?” she’d asked around a half dozen times before she’d finally left me with Battista.
I was nervous. It wasn’t as if I didn’t have experience being around small children. I’d watched my nieces Luna and Caterina, and my brother Giulio as toddlers all the time, but I’d never babysat them. I suppose Mom and Dad, and Savio and Gemma had never considered me a valid option. Not that I had ever wanted to be a babysitter. And now I sat on the floor beside my almost eighteen-months-old son and played with toy fire trucks and tractors.
I staged a crash between two tractors with plenty of sound effects, causing Battista to giggle before he became serious as he rolled the fire trucks toward the crash scene.
“Have you ever ridden in a fire truck?” I asked.
Battista looked up from the toy cars curiously. I wasn’t sure if he understood what I meant. He was probably still too young to get it. “Do you want to ride in a fire truck?” I asked instead.
He nodded enthusiastically. That was enough for me, even if I still wasn’t sure he got what I meant.
I pulled out my phone and called the fire department. At first, they thought I was a prank caller. I had to repeat my name several times before I was told I could come over. I stood and held out my hand. “Come on, let’s go ride a fire truck.”
Battista looked up from his toys then he stumbled to his feet, one truck under his arm.
I grabbed my car keys on the way out, then paused because I almost forgot the child seat. After I’d taken the child seat from Mom’s car and put it in mine, Battista and I could finally head out.
We were on the road for fifteen minutes when Battista signaled that he was hungry and thirsty. Of course, I hadn’t packed anything. I hadn’t even thought of packing his diaper bag. Grimacing, I headed toward Whole Foods because that was what Aurora would have wanted, so I bought Battista some watermelon, fruit pouches, a bottle of water, and a cheese sandwich.
Ten minutes later, Battista was satisfied, and his clothes ruined with watermelon juice, blackberry stains, and bread crumbs. Half of the water had soaked my shirt too. “All right. I suppose we need to go clothes shopping.”
I sent Aurora a photo of Battista and asked where I could buy clothes for him.
She called immediately. “Is that blood?”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s watermelon and blackberry.”
“Oh,” she said, sounding embarrassed.
“I know I’ve been a horrible father so far but do you really think I’d get Battista covered in blood the first time I watch him alone?”
