Page 64 of Christmas with the Mafia
I can guess the answer already as she replaces the cover and shakes her head. “No. I play when I’m alone. It calms me and focuses my attention, distancing me from my life here.”
“Why, don’t you enjoy this life?”
I’m confused because, on face value, Sophia has everything, and yet it’s becoming increasingly obvious that isn’t the case.
“It is my life, I accepted that a long time ago. It can be lonely at times though, which is why I was so impressed that you fought for your independence.”
I say nothing because this is becoming intense, and I say lightly, “So, do you know any Christmas tunes?”
“Of course.” Her eyes light up, and as she turns back the cover, the gentle notes of Silent Night fill the air. It is hauntingly beautiful as she plays the music, and I can’t help but hum the tune.
The fact we’re alone gives me courage, and I move to her side and sing the words, loving how she joins in. It’s a magical moment as we sing the carol, surrounded by the beautifully lit tree and the warm lighting concentrated on the small stage.
We get to the end and she smiles, a hint of moisture welling in her eyes.
“Thank you.” She appears so grateful I reach out and place my hand on her arm, a return smile my only response.
She inhales and turns her attention to the walls.
“Every tapestry here is one I made.”
“Wow, really?” I gaze at the art on the walls with a new interest because I wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference between these and the ones in the dining room.
She stands, and I follow her to the one above yet another huge fireplace.
“This one is entitled Mother and Sons.”
As she says it, I detect a self-portrait made of silks, depicting four young boys playing by the ocean.
“I wanted this one to have the best view. When it’s light, this room has an impressive view of the beach outside, where the boys used to play. We had nannies, but I always insisted that was my responsibility. To play with them on the sand to create a memory they would always reflect backon with love.”
I stare at the tapestry, noting the depiction of a family scene—a mother and sons, surrounded by love.
She says with a soft excitement, “Perhaps I will be able to do another with my grandchildren next time. I liked your vision of a happy life with lots of children.”
“Of course. I want that so much.”
She turns, and her sympathetic smile is comforting as she asks, “Tell me about your parents.”
“They may as well be strangers.”
“That must hurt.”
“Not really. I would have made an excuse not to go and stay with them for Christmas, anyway. I prefer to surround myself with genuine people, not ones with no interest in me or what I do in life.”
If anything, Sophia’s smile saddens, and I shrug. “Don’t feel bad for me. I don’t. I have good friends, a job that I love and now a fiancé who has exceeded all of my wishes. You should be proud of him; he’s one in a million.”
She is spared from a response as the door opens and one of the maids enters with an apologetic, “Mr. Ravera has asked that you join them in the small living room.”
“Of course. Thank you, Gerry.”
As the maid leaves, Sophia sighs and glances around her before saying sadly, “Stay strong, Regina and never forget who you are or give up on your dreams. This family can break even the strongest spirit, and you should be aware of that.”
I say nothing as I follow her out of the room, but I am wrapped in confusion. What can be so bad about having it all? If only I did, because it’s becoming increasingly obviousthat what started out as fake is fast becoming way more when I picture the man who brought me into his world.
Fake has a habit of changing into reality the more time that passes, and I wonder if I can ever go back to my condo in Queens after this. After Nicholas Ravera. After finding him.
Thirty-Two
