Page 31 of Scar

She nods and leads me into the room accommodating my father. “It’s a good thing you came. I was just about to call you.”

“Everything okay?”

She smiles up at me as she stands at one side of father’s bed. “Your father opened his eyes today. He responded to some of my cues.”

My eyes go wide as I look down at my father’s figure laying prone, willing him to wake up and give me the same attention he gave my mother earlier.

“The doctor is hopeful that he’ll be up and about in no time,” she tells me, and I can’t help the way my heart gallops in earnest at the thought of having my father back again.

“You shouldn’t have doubted that he’d fight this,” I tell her, biting my lip anxiously. I suddenly find myself looking forward to nothing as much as talking to my father again.

“Come, let me show you what I’ve done with the room for his home homing.”

She holds out her hand and I follow, my excitement matching hers. I can see she’s still comfortable spending extravagant amounts of money we either don’t or barely have. I, like my father, understand very well the extent of our financial woes, but mother, still living in her own little bubble, has refused to believe that if we don’t scale back our spending, we could end up destitute within months. Well, I wouldn’t, because I’m currently living in the lap of luxury, but what of my parents? I can’t imagine that Scar would take too kindly to my request to take in his father’s worst enemy if it ever came down to that, and I don’t even want to think of the position I’d be in if I had to ask for that mercy.

The room has been repainted in eggshell white and all the furniture changed. My mother’s always had expensive taste, and I’m almost sweating just considering the sum she would have dropped to refinish the room, considering the upscale antiquesboutique she commissioned to do the refurbishment. It looks stunning, a room fit for a king, and I swallow back the lump in my throat and say nothing as she beams at the finished product. Who am I to deprive her of her happiness and wanting to do something for my father? If worse comes to worse and she blows what remains of the family fortune, we’ll deal with it when the time comes. For now, I gulp back my protestations and tell her how beautiful the room looks. For beautiful it is.

It’s nearing eleven when Scar returns to my parents’ house. I’d all but given up hope that he’d return today, after he called and told me his meetings would take longer than expected. But he comes for me, his eyes wild and his hair a disheveled mess of dark strands falling over his face. With one hand, he smooths his hair back as he steps into the house and pulls me into him with an arm around my waist. He inhales, deep, then sighs and steps back, taking my hand as we walk into my father’s temporary room.

“How is he?” he asks, standing at my father’s bedside. The question takes me by surprise. He’s never asked, never so much as cared how my father is doing. To the best of my knowledge, he would have rather preferred him dead instead of languishing in a hospital bed in the comfort of his own home. I don’t know how much to tell him as I watch his curious gaze flickering over the bed.

“He’s…good. Making progress.”

Scar nods his head, but I can see he’s distracted from the lack of reaction to the news.

“Is everything okay, Scar?”

He looks up at me, considers my question for a moment, but says nothing as he looks over my shoulder. I follow his gaze as my mother steps into the room, her eyes fixed on Scar.

“Will you be staying? I just finished making up Allegra’s room, but I can make up the master guest room instead.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Scar’s eyes swing toward me, emotion swirling in their deep steely depths. “I came to take my wife home.”

My breath catches and my heart stutters. That word from his mouth evokes a rush of feelings in me. His wife. Even his tone has changed. His wife. My husband.

My mother nods her understanding and presses her lips together, holding something back. Then she lets it out, just as Scar comes around the bed and puts his hand in mine.

“I’d really love it if you could come to dinner next week on a day of your choosing,” she starts. “The invitation extends to you and your brothers…and anyone else you’d like to invite.” Her head arcs toward the bed as she looks at my father fondly. “With any luck, he’ll be well enough to join us at the table.”

An awakening stirs deep inside me. My mother’s entire existence revolves around my father and me. We are her whole world, and now she has no one else. The realization of her loneliness hits me hard—I've moved out, and my father is confined to a hospital bed. She never truly encompassed the role of a typical ‘mafia wife’. She avoids the social circles, the charity galas, the intricate web of alliances and friendships that other mafia wives embrace. Instead, she pours every ounce of herself into being a mother and a wife. With no extended family, it’s always been just the three of us. Now, it’s just her. The depth of her solitude and the devastation it must bring is almost unbearable to comprehend.

I look to my husband expectantly. Silent moments stretch out between us as he looks at my earnest face. If there wasany doubt in me before that he would deny me, there is none remaining when he turns to my mother, gives her a small smile, and tells her he’ll let her know what day works for he and his brothers.

CHAPTER 29 – SCAR

My brothers tell me I’ve lost my mind. That’s how they view my actions when they find out I’ve sent Allegra away. And all hell breaks loose as they argue back and forth that the safest place for her is with us at the estate.

In a way, they’ve made the choice easy for me. The house has been eerily quiet since she left, her absence leaving an insurmountable void. Even the conversations between us have been stilted as my brothers feel the loss of the woman they’ve come to view as a sister.

So I do myself – and everyone involved – a favor and pick my wife up from her parents’ house. I don’t understand just how much I’ve missed her until I see her and my heart does a rapid gallop or two around the room.

Her hand in mine feels like it’s where it belongs, where it’s always belonged. I lift her hand to my lips after we slide into the back of the car and graze her knuckles. Her scent infiltrates my bloodstream, and I’m finding it hard to keep my hands off her as the car speeds towards the house.

“Did you do what you needed to do?” she asks. When what she really wants to ask is if there’ll be a need for me to send her away again. I’m hoping not, but my mother reminds me of a slithering snake who refuses to die unless you cut off its head.

Over the years, she has tried to come back into the fold. My father has refused her entry into the country every time. Not only did he exile her from the family; he exiled her from thecountry altogether. The fact that she would dare step a foot on our land tells me she no longer has any fear about her return now that my father is gone. Perhaps she even considered that we would welcome her back with open arms; she is our mother, after all. But father made it his life’s work to educate us on the reasons that she’d been exiled in the first place. He never kept anything from us, thus ensuring that if the need ever arose, we could act upon her return accordingly.

“I don’t want you to worry about my business, Allegra. It’s safe for you to return.”

---