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Chapter Three
- Dante -
AFTER UNPACKING, Istood outside her room, my hand poised, ready to knock. I had faced down fellow assassins, human traffickers, child molesters and some who were a mixture of all three – the worst men humanity had to offer. I was never nervous, but my palms grew sweaty as I stood there. I wasn’t sure if the woman on the other side of the door would recognize me and that scared me more than any flesh and blood man ever could.
I knocked quickly, the same way I always did. One sharp wrap. If she were aware today, she would know who was on the other side of her door.
I breathed a sigh of relief when I heard, “Dante! Come in!” in her heavily accented English. It wasn’t her dominant language. My mother never spoke a word of English until she moved to this country with my father. He learned the language by going to night school. Every evening, he sat down with her after I was put to bed and taught her everything he learned that day.
Gabriel and I were raised to speak both languages, but by the time Lilly was born, we primarily spoke English. My father was determined that we would fit in, be better than what he’d left behind. I always believed he was wrong about that. I was proud of his hard work and all that my parents accomplished, but they were from a different generation and held on to old-world values that they did their best to instill in their children. For the most part, we got it. Their work ethic. Their sense of loyalty. Their pride. And family. At the end of the day, nothing was more important than your family.
“Mama,” I murmured as I walked in.
“You made it back in time,” she said as she hugged me. “I told Lilly you would be here.” She patted the lapels of my suit coat. “Everything’s good?”
She asked me that every time I came home. She didn’t know who I really was, but she knew enough to worry.
“Everything is always good.” I kissed her cheek as I repeated the same answer I gave her every time.
“Bene, bene. I was going to get dressed for my party. Come, sit and talk with me.”
“We can talk later if you’re busy.”
“I’m never too busy for my first-born son.”
She patted the bed and I gave up. We had an hour before the party started. I didn’t want to waste too much of her time.
“I can spare a few minutes. This old woman only needs a few minutes to make this look better.”
I kissed the top of her hand. “You’re beautiful.”
I held her hand, noticing the wrinkles were more prominent. The age spots had multiplied. But even age couldn’t roughen the hands that had fed me, changed me, and taught me to write my name. And despite her current challenges, she was still smiling.
“That’s what any good son would say.” Then she asked me the same thing Gabriel did. “Do you have any other trips planned soon?”
Not soon, so I didn’t lie to her when I said, “No.”
I had plenty of time before I had to leave for my next contract. The prep work would take months. He was the son of a sheik who liked to “adopt” little blond-haired, blue-eyed girls. He raised them for six months to a year, then they were never seen again.
I’d make sure he was never seen again. He was a piece of filth who never deserved to see another sunrise, but at his father’s request, the contract wasn’t to be fulfilled until after the new year. It seemed Dad was planning some extensive travels and didn’t want to be in the country when I killed his son. Why the fuck he hadn’t dealt with his perverted offspring before now, I had no idea, but I charged him a million extra for dictating the timeline. That’s how badly he wanted his son dead. I’m sure there was some sordid backstory to the whole thing. I anticipated that Junior got his tendencies from dear old dad, but it looked like the son wasn’t as good at keeping his dirty secrets. But if I found out my suspicions were true, Dad could very well make it on my list, too. That’s probably why he wanted to be MIA when I carried out the contract. It wouldn’t matter. If I wanted him dead, it was just a matter of time.
I turned my attention back to the woman who was watching me with a very curious expression on her face.
“Are you looking forward to tonight?” I loved my mother, but even with her, small talk was difficult. Words mattered to me, but not the useless mumbo jumbo that went on in most casual conversations. I needed words to have meaning, to have a specific purpose.
My mother knew that about me. “I’m looking forward to celebrating another year on God’s earth and to having all of my children with me when I do it.”
“Do you like your gift?” Earlier in the week, I arranged for an oil painting of the Madonna and Child to be sent to her from “Spain.” I looked around her suite of rooms and found the painting where it hung on the wall next to a smaller picture of my father.
“I do.” She nodded in its direction. “That was the best place to put it. Right where I can see it every morning when I wake up. When I talk to your father, I can look right at the Blessed Virgin and her Son and know that all is in God’s hands.”
My heart skipped a beat when she said, “when I talk to your father.” As if he were still alive. I’m a direct man, but this was my mother.
“Mama, you still talk to Pop?”
She nodded and I held my breath.
“Every day.” She smiled and took my hand. “After I pray for his soul to be at rest, I pray to him for advice.”
