Page 135 of Dirty Game
"He asked me yesterday if you were going to be his new mom." Varrick's voice is careful, testing.
"What did you tell him?"
"That you already were, in every way that mattered."
I reach across Dante's sleeping little body, find Varrick's hand in the dark. "He's opening up more. Yesterday he showed me his drawings. Even the dark ones."
"The ones of Sienna?"
"Yeah. But also new ones. Of us. Of his family." I squeeze his hand. "We're in all of them. Together."
"Dr. Fitchett says he's making remarkable progress," Varrick adds. "Said Dante told her he feels safe now. First time he's used that word."
Before I know it, the sun has risen and we’re all into our normal routine.
Dante pads into the kitchen with his stuffed wolf, Guardian, tucked under one arm and a piece of paper in the other.
"I made this in therapy yesterday," he announces, climbing onto Varrick's lap at the breakfast table. "Dr. Fitchett said I should show you."
It's a drawing.
Not the dark, violent ones from before, but something else.
Three figures holding hands—a tall man in black, a woman with yellow hair, and a small boy between them.
Above them, he's written in careful, crooked letters:MY FAMLY
"Family is spelled wrong," he says seriously. "But Dr. Fitchett says that's okay."
"It's perfect," I tell him, my throat tight.
"Can we put it on the fridge? Like normal families do?"
"We are a normal family," Varrick says, carrying him to the refrigerator where he ceremoniously places the drawing with a magnet. "Our kind of normal."
The peaceful morning shatters with a phone call.
"It's Marco," Maria says, holding out my phone with distaste. "Says it's urgent."
I haven't spoken to my brother in so long, but I’m curious to know what the hell he wants. "What do you want?"
"Sister." His voice is oily, fake-warm. "Heard you've upgraded from payment to princess."
"Get to the point, Marco."
"Uncle Enzo's sick. Dying, actually. Liver's finally giving out from all the drinking." He pauses for effect. "He wants to see you."
"No."
"You owe us." The warmth drops, revealing the ugly truth underneath. "We raised you after Dad died. Fed you, clothed you, kept a roof over your head."
"You burned me with cigarettes and sold me to pay a debt."
"None of it matters," he dismisses. "Point is, you're rich now. Varrick Bane's woman. And family helps family."
"We're not family."
"Blood says different. Uncle Enzo needs treatment. Private doctors. Expensive ones." I can hear his smirk through the phone. "Five million should cover it."
