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As much as I scolded my father for spoiling Matteo, I did a fair amount of it myself. “All right,” I said softly. “But only for a couple hours. Then you have to get a bath and get ready for bed.” Matteo grinned, knowing he’d gotten what he wanted. “Finish up now,” I said, walking outside and closing the door.
Alicia, Matteo’s sixty-year-old nanny, was sitting by the door in a rocking chair, knitting. She looked up at me. “How long in the office?” she asked, knowing I didn’t like Matteo in there. I knew what my father had behind the bookshelves, and I was terrified Matteo would get into it and get himself hurt.
“Hour and a half, tops,” I told her in a low voice, not wanting Matteo to hear me. “And keep a good eye on him, yeah?”
“I always do,” Alicia replied, almost offended.
I smiled at her. “You do, Alicia. I’m going to give you a raise.”
She snorted. “About time.” But she was smiling. Alicia was sassy in a way I liked. I wanted my son raised by strong women, and I couldn’t do it alone.
I decided to shower while I was waiting for Matteo to finish and come down. I made my way a few doors down in the left wing, where my bedroom was located. It was close to Matteo’s, just in case. The first few months, he slept in bed with me because he was nursing all the time. It was so strange that he was so grown-up now. I undressed and looked at myself in the full-length mirror, poking at the extra fat on my body and stretch marks on my stomach that pregnancy had left. If Rocco could see me naked now, would he even want me? I sighed. Why did I even care? He’d gone ghost without a word, right before we were supposed to really start our lives together. Clearly, I wasn’t important. And he’d had no idea I was carrying his son. And he would never know, if I had anything to say about it, back in town or not.
By the time I was finished showering and dressing for dinner, Matteo was already setting the table. He smiled up at me when I walked down. “Did you get to spend some time with Papa?” I asked.
Matteo grinned. “Yeah.”
The cook, Marisa, sat out the ziti she’d made. I could already smell the Italian sausage in it. “Smells wonderful, Marisa,” I said, and she beamed at me. The staff in my father’s mansion were all a part of the family, as far as my father and I were concerned, and I particularly liked Marisa.
There’d been rumors when I was young that she was my father’s mistress, but I knew there was no merit to that. My mother had been my father’s one true love, and he’d never been like the othercapo, having a wife and women on the side. He’d always been faithful to her, and as far as I knew, he still was, even fifteen years after her death. Whenever other wiseguys asked him about why he didn’t go after other woman, he’d laugh and say, “You don’t go out for hamburgers when you have steak waiting at home.”
My father was busy in a meeting, so he’d take dinner in his office later. I thought I’d walk it up to him and talk to him a bit more about the meet coming up tonight. I planned on being there, learning as much as I could about the otherfamigliein the area. If my father wanted me to take over, I needed to get in good with all of the area wiseguys, especially since a woman running things isn’t common.
“Mama?” Matteo called when he was halfway through his ziti.
I was pushing mine around on my plate, having lost my appetite since hearing about Rocco coming back into town. “What’s up, bud?” I asked distractedly.
“How come I don’t have a papa?” he asked.
My eyes shot to his face. He had his head tilted, looking at me curiously. This wasn’t exactly the first time he’d asked about his father, but it had been a while.
I cleared my throat. “Some kids just don’t, Matteo.”
“But why?” he asked insistently. “You have your papa. Why don’t I have one?”
“Can we talk about this tomorrow?” I asked.
Matteo stared at me for another moment, frowning, before he looked down at his food. “Yes, Mama,” he said quietly, and I felt a pang of guilt rock through me. Of course Matteo wanted to know about his father. Any kid who was about to turn ten would know there was something off about just having his mother and grandfather around. It was made worse by the fact that no one in the area knew that Matteo even existed. I wanted to protect him, and since Matteo was the only male heir to the Rossi family…well, it put him in a lot of danger if people were to start asking questions.
So I kept him tucked away, but I always worried he was missing out by not going to public school, being at home in the mansion all the time. I knew this couldn’t last forever, but I wanted him to learn the skills it took to do something other than crime. I’d been born into this life, and I knew what I was doing, but Matteo was soft, a sweet kid with the most tender heart. I didn’t think he was cut out for thefamiglia. My father disagreed. It was a common point of contention between us.
“I’m sorry, honey,” I told Matteo gently. “I’m just tired.” I was telling the truth. Iwastired, especially after hearing about Rocco. I felt emotionally exhausted, especially since I’d have to see him tonight at the meet.
“It’s okay,” Matteo said, and then grinned. “You’ll just have to let me watch an extra hour of TV tonight to make up for it.”
I snorted. “You manipulative little snot,” I teased, and Matteo giggled. “All right, you can watch television until nine o’clock, but don’t get used to it.”
Matteo nodded again, knowing he’d gotten exactly what he wanted. I spoiled him relentlessly, so I wasn’t surprised he’d figured out just how to play me. I almost respected it.
He ran upstairs the second he was finished with dinner, and Marisa cleared the table, looking at my mostly full plate. “You barely touched your food,” she said with a frown. “Was it not good?” Marisa was full-blooded Sicilian, and it showed in her cooking.
I shook my head. “It was amazing, Marisa, as always. I’m just nervous about the meet tonight.”
“Ah,” Marisa hummed. “You’ll do just fine,bellisima,”she assured me, and I gave her a grateful smile.
My father hadn’t announced yet that I’d be taking over the family business, and for good reason. Wiseguys, especially in New York City, were used to the old way of things. Only male heirs. Women should be seen and not heard, just eye candy. They viewed women as possessions. I’d asked my father once if he’d wished I was a boy. He’d scoffed. “Never. Not once,” he’d answered. “What, I want another little asshole version of myself running around?” It had made me laugh and laugh. I smiled, thinking about it. “I’ll take Papa a plate,” I offered.
Marisa handed me one that she’d wrapped up and reheated. “Tell him he better eat every bite,” she warned, and I laughed, nodding.
