Page 37 of Mountain Daddy

He'll be tall like his father.

Broad-shouldered.

Dangerous.

I shake off the thought. Chleo isn't dangerous. He's sweet and funny. Helps old Mrs. Smith carry her groceries from the car without having to be asked.

He hates loud voices. Any display of aggression.

He’s a child. Innocent and pure.

Nothing like the man who gave him those eyes.

“Finish up, troublemaker. The ducks are waiting.”

Fern Falls on a Sunday morning is everything Chicago never was.

Quiet. Safe. The kind of place where kids ride bikes without helmets and mothers don't check over their shoulders every five minutes.

The park sits in the center of town, surrounded by beautiful mountains. Protected. Hidden.

Chleo takes off toward the pond with the bag of day-old bread. He runs like the world’s safe. And for his sake, I pretend it is.

I follow behind at a slower pace, nodding to the families already scattered along the water’s edge.

“Morning, Lilly!” calls Sarah, whose twin girls are Chleo's age. “How's the bakery?”

“Busy,” I lie with a smile. Truth is, I'm one bad month away from closing. But Fern Falls doesn't need to know that.

“We'll stop by later for those chocolate chip cookies. Emma's been asking for them all week.”

“I'll save her the biggest ones.”

Chleo's already tossing bread to the ducks, laughing as they paddle over in a frenzy. Three ducklings come swimming behind their mother.

“Look, Mama! The babies remember me!”

“They love you.” I smile.

This is the life I built. Peaceful mornings and safe places and a son who thinks the world is magic.

No Bratva.

No blood.

No men with brass knuckles and eyes like winter storms.

“Can we get a duck?” Chleo asks.

“Ducks need ponds and other ducks. They'd be sad in our little house.”

“What about a dog?”

“Dogs need yards.”

“What about a fish?”

I laugh, pulling him against my side. “Maybe a fish.”

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