Page 10 of The Mafia King's Baby

I open the door to find her standing in the hallway, flashlight beam pointed downward to avoid blinding me. She’s changed into what look like flannel pajama pants and an oversized sweater, her hair loose around her shoulders. In her free hand, she balances a tray holding two wine glasses and a plate of cheese and crackers.

“I thought you might be going stir-crazy without internet or television.” Her smile looks slightly embarrassed in the flashlight glow. “Would you like some wine and snacks while we wait for the storm to pass? I have candles downstairs, and the fireplace works without electricity.”

The invitation is purely innocent, motivated by simple hospitality rather than any agenda I need to analyze or guardagainst. She’s offering companionship during an inconvenient situation, and it’s nothing more complex than that.

I should decline. Distance would be safer and more appropriate given who I really am and why I’m here, but looking at her face in the soft light, seeing genuine concern mixed with tentative hope in her expression, I nod. “That sounds very nice.”

The smile she gives me in response makes every risk feel worthwhile.

We make our way downstairs by flashlight, and she leads me to the living room, where she’s already lit several candles and started a fire in the stone fireplace. The flickering light transforms the familiar space into something magical, shadows dancing on the walls and warm orange light playing across her features as she moves around the room.

She pours wine from a bottle she left on the coffee table, handing me a glass of what tastes like an excellent Pinot Noir. We settle on opposite ends of her couch, the plate of cheese and crackers between us, and I allow myself to pretend for a moment that this is my life. That I’m someone who comes home to candlelight and wine and conversation with someone who finds me interesting for reasons that have nothing to do with fear or greed or calculation.

“This is nice,” I say, raising my glass in a small toast.

“Here’s to unexpected storms and forced relaxation.” She touches her glass to mine, and the crystal rings softly in the quiet room.

Outside, the storm continues its assault on the mountains, but inside this circle of candlelight and warmth, I feel safer than I have in months. Not because the house provides physicalsecurity, but because the woman sitting across from me offers something I’d almost forgotten existed—the possibility of connection without consequence, conversation without hidden agendas, and the simple pleasure of being enjoyed for who I appear to be rather than feared for who I really am.

It’s dangerous and foolish and completely contrary to every survival instinct I’ve developed over the years of living in the shadow economy, but as I watch Celia’s face in the firelight, listening to her laugh at something I’ve said, I can’t bring myself to care about the risks.

For tonight, the storm has trapped us together in this small island of warmth and light, and I’m grateful for the excuse to stay exactly where I am.

5

Celia

We settle on opposite ends of my couch, the wine tray balanced on the coffee table between us. Candlelight flickers across the room, casting dancing shadows on the walls and making everything feel intimate and removed from the ordinary world. The storm continues its assault outside, but inside this circle of warm light, we might as well be the only two people left on earth.

“This is charming.” Aleks raises his glass, and the crystal catches the firelight. “Thank you for thinking of it.”

“I hate being alone during power outages.” I take a sip of the Pinot Noir, letting the wine warm my throat. “When I was little, my dad used to tell me stories during storms to keep me from getting scared. Now, I just feel restless without the distraction of television or internet.”

“What kind of stories?”

“Adventure stories, mostly. Tales about brave princesses who rescued themselves and explorers who discovered hidden worlds.” I smile at the memory. “He had this theory that girls needed to hear about women who solved their own problems instead of waiting to be saved.”

“Smart man.”

“He was. I miss the way he could make ordinary moments feel special just by paying attention to them.”

Aleks leans forward slightly. “He passed away?”

“Three years ago. Heart attack.” The words still catch in my throat sometimes. “He was relatively young, only fifty-eight. One day he was teaching me how to change my car’s oil, and two weeks later, he was gone.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” I take another sip of wine, feeling the familiar ache that comes with missing someone. “What about your family? Are you close with them?”

Something shifts in his expression, so subtle I almost miss it. “My brother died six years ago. We were very close.”

“I’m sorry. That must have been devastating.”

“It changed everything.” He stares into the fire for a moment, and I see grief there that matches my own. “He was younger than me, always getting into trouble, always sure that rules were just suggestions, but he had this way of making everyone around him feel more alive.”

“Sounds like he was lucky to have you looking out for him.”

“I wasn’t there when it mattered most.” The words come out flat and final. “I should have protected him better.”

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