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I drape my arm around my much-younger stalker’s shoulders.
Faro ticks his head up, then rests his chin on my chest.
He blows out a breath, which sends his thick, adorable hair fluttering.
Something gnaws at my chest. It’s a sensation I’ve never experienced before.
Leaning in, I press a kiss to Faro’s cheek. "You’ve wanted this for a long time. Haven’t you, boy?"
Faro falls fast asleep. He doesn’t respond.
As he frolics through meadows and picks tulips in dreamland (okay fine, I don't know what he’s dreaming about), I run my fingers across his downy cheeks and think about my past.
Five years today. That’s how long I’ve been out of prison.
I went in for money laundering and bribery of a public official. It’s where I officially met the Luciano family—I’d lived next to Nonna for decades, but it wasn’t until Medici and I hit it off behind bars that I made their official acquaintance.
Prison—even when you’re put away for white-collar crimes like me—has a way of changing your views of the world. No longer can you look at structural inequality and injustice the same. You see everything through the light of the least privileged in society—those who’ve offended the sensibilities of the masses in terms of breaking the law and are now relegated to persona non grata status.
Try getting a job as an ex-convict without hundreds of millions of dollars. It’s impossible.
Speaking with men who didn’t have my resources opened my eyes to sad truths. Society doesn’t give two shits about rehabilitation. Is it their responsibility? Well, not really, but it’s better than spending hundreds of thousands of dollars keeping someone behind bars. Feeding them trash food. Forcing them to work for pennies so you can maintain your proto-capitalist system of free labor.
Or, at least that’s how things are done in the USA. I heard nightmares about what my incarcerated brothers and sisters went through overseas. The for-profit prison complex is predicated on systematic injustice and keeping people in the dark about their true rights.
It was tough finding love in those circumstances.
Faro shifts, his lips finding my chest—then wrapping around my left nipple.
I groan as he suckles me, still fast asleep, unaware of what he’s doing.
My fingers twine through his hair, tugging at his roots, adoring how thick and pretty it is. "You’ve helped me grow as a person, boy. I’m coming out of the darkness—stepping into the light."
Just then, a butterfly floats through the window. My heart leaps into my throat—and a cold sweat breaks out on my temples.
The butterfly swirls around the room, flapping its beautiful blue wings. It rests on Faro’s tummy, then seemingly falls asleep.
This means… so much to me. Butterflies are my spirit animal—my special sign. Once, I was worried that I wouldn’t ever get out of prison, and I was sitting in the yard. A butterfly approached me, then rested on my wrist.
At that precise moment, I knew everything would be okay.
Faro’s eyes flutter open. "There’s a butterfly kissing me, Daddy."
I massage his head, seeking to tell him to hush up without using my words. Then, because Faro’s about to pet it, I speak up. "No touching it. You’ll hurt it."
Faro sniffles. "So pretty."
I issue Faro a stern look. "Sometimes, the prettiest things in life are what you should never go near. They’re delicate—you’ll destroy them with your grubby fingers."
Faro issues me an unamused glare. "Grubby." He lifts his fingers, studying them in the light. "Speak for yourself."
Fighting back a laugh, I snake my right hand through his. "Butterflies are magical creatures. You wouldn’t want to take away their magic, would you?"
Faro shakes his head back and forth. "No, Daddy."
Leaning in, I brush my lips against his temple. He melts on my chest, a contented sigh escaping him as his legs spread.
"Good boy," I breathe, emotion for this little stalker filling me, overwriting the previous distrust I felt. "Thank you for listening to Daddy. He knows what he’s talking about."
