Page 51 of Mafia King's Surprise Baby

“How long…” I ask, unable to continue, to ask him when he’ll be killed to atone for the sin I committed, when he’ll bring a truce upon this fucked up war.

He swallows, hard. It’s the only sign of emotion I’ve seen from him today.

“Tristan is graduating in May,” he says.

I nod, getting it now. Tristan, the baby, the apple of my father’s eye. I’m his heir, and I know he loves me, as he does the twins. But Tristan, it’s a different story. We all know he has a special place in my father’s heart. We don’t begrudge him for it, though. Lord knows the kid deserves it—he’s the only one of us who doesn’t recall our mother. How could he, when he was barely nine months old when she abandoned him, and us?

“We have some time, then,” I tell him.

Nonnagrips my hand and squeezes it tight. I place my other hand over hers and press down, infusing all my courage into her, seeking bravery from her touch simultaneously.

My father nods. “Let’s make it count, okay?”

I nod, too. “Okay,Padre.”

Chapter 15

Bianca

“Maman!Look!Neko!”

I laugh, watching my son be absolutely riveted by the cat strolling around the park. Brave animal, to come to this section full of little kids with grabby hands and too much enthusiasm and love.

“He just spoke in three languages,” Anne-Marie, the mom sitting next to me on the bench, says with awe.

I laugh a little. “Yes. We speak to him in all three at home.”

For our cover in Japan, I need to speak French, and he also goes to a French-speaking daycare. I speak English to him, as well. Hiro addresses him entirely in Japanese, hence the fluency of flowing into three tongues and being able to convey exactly what he means.

It’s a joy to see him being so open and talkative. Just last month, the team of doctors who have been following him since birth gave us the all clear. He made all the milestones expected of a three-year-old child at pretty much the same pace as one born at full term despite being born at just thirty-one weeks.

Enzo approaches the cat and lets it sniff his hand. Soon, he’s petting the animal, a look of pure wonder on his little face.

When he smiles, my heart bursts with love, at the same time it constricts with pain. That smile, it’s his father’s. It’s Leo’s.

I so wanted to name him Leo when he was born. But that would’ve been too obvious. So I settled on Lorenzo—Enzo for short. Lorenzo Picard has the initials LP, like Leo Pellegrini, or Lorenzo Pellegrini if he’d been born in the US with his father aware of his existence. Leo would’ve offered to marry me as it’s the honorable thing to do, especially in our world when you get a girl from another Mafia family pregnant. We would’ve been a family…

I tear myself from this idea and watch my beautiful little boy get up and start to run after the cat who got scared by another squealing child. But at one point, he trips and falls.

I’m out of my seat in a flash and rush to him. My chest is on the point of exploding when he lifts his head and stares at me, tears brimming in his big dark brown eyes.

“It’s okay,koji,” I say as I run a hand over his messy dark hair. The locks look just like Leo’s, down to the cowlick slightly off the center of his forehead. “It’s okay to cry.”

He burrows into me, and I cradle him close. Guess fun times are over for today. It’s best we head home. I get my purse and the bottomless baby bag I’ve been carrying everywhere for the past three years from the bench and prop my little boy at my waist, being careful not to graze his skinned knee any more.

I wave goodbye to Anne-Marie, then it’s a short walk back to the apartment building. Enzo’s small sobs are muffled in the crook of my neck. The sniffles are going to come soon. Good thing I can get him cleaned up once upstairs then put him down for a nap.

The elevator doors open, and I get out, heading to the left to my apartment. I get in, surprised to hear Hana’s voice reverberating in the quiet interior. The sound shakes Enzo out of his half-asleep state, and he starts crying.

“Ça va aller, mon petit cœur,” I croon as I hurry inside. I catch a glimpse of Hana in the living room, her back to me, phone held in front of her on a video call.

I swallow and rush past. She’s talking to Mattia. I can’t let my brother see me. As things stand, he could have heard me. I try never to be at home when she calls him, for fear he might hear me or see me if I pass inside the same room Hana’s in. He thinks this is Hiro’s house, where he lives with Bérénice, his partner, and their son, Koji.Kojimeans little one in Japanese; it’s our nickname for Enzo. Hana wasn’t expecting us back before another hour, at least, hence why we caught her on this call.

I stop inside the hallway, listening.

“Wait, who was that?” Mattia asks.

“Just Koji with his mom,” Hana replies, sounding evasive.

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