Dante doesn’t react immediately. He studies his son for a long moment, his silence heavier than words. Then, with a subtle tilt of his head, he asks, “Everything alright at home? School? Practice?”
The child squares his shoulders slightly, a hint of defensiveness. “Yeah.” He pauses, then adds with a small, proud smile, “I’m a big boy now, I can take care of myself!”
Something flickers in Dante’s expression, vanishing before I can name it. There’s pride in his son’s resilience, but also something heavier.
Dante finally nods, then gestures toward me. “Mattia, this is Harlow. My fiancée.”
Mattia turns his gaze to me, his eyes, so much like his father’s, flicking over my face. He doesn’t offer a greeting at first, and for a moment, I wonder if he’ll ignore me entirely. But then, with a poise that’s too mature for his age, he straightens slightly and says, “I’m Mattia Salvatore.”
Not just Mattia. His full name, a quiet assertion of who he is.
I nod, offering a soft smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Mattia.”
He considers that for a beat, then gives the smallest dip of his head, before shifting his attention to Mario. “I heard you were back a few days ago. How come I didn’t see you?”
Mario smirks, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “You always hear things, don’t you?”
Mattia doesn’t answer, but a smug expression crosses his face, as if he takes pleasure in knowing more than he lets on.
“Are you going to ask if I brought you something?” Mario inquires, a brow arched in mild amusement.
Mattia shrugs nonchalantly. “If you did, you would’ve given it to me already.”
Mario chuckles, shaking his head with a wry smile. “Smartass.”
He pulls a small car from his suit jacket and hands it to the boy. Mattia’s face lights up, the joy in his expression undeniable. “I can’t believe you got me this one! I can finally add it to my collection!”
Dante watches in silence, a faint smile tugging at his lips. There’s something about his son’s happiness that’s infectious, and for a moment, even the hardened man allows himself to enjoy the sight. Then, almost as an afterthought, he reaches intohis own jacket and pulls out a small box, tossing it to Mattia. The boy catches it, fingers curling around the edges before flipping it open.
He smiles again, so bright it’s almost too much for his small face. “Ferrero Rocher! My favourite!”
The enthusiasm is so pure, I don’t even realize I’m smiling.
Dante smirks slightly, his voice commanding. “Do try to resist consuming them all before the night is through.”
“Maybe just one?” Mattia asks excited.
“Only one, then. And see that you brush your teeth afterward.” Dante’s tone is firm, yet there’s a subtle warmth beneath it.
Then he pauses, eyes narrowing just slightly as he adds. “Alright, let’s call it a night. It has been an exceptionally long day.” His gaze shifts to Mattia, the words turning pointed. “You have school in the morning, and I highly doubt you’ll manage to keep your eyes open through your lessons.”
Mattia stands a little straighter, a flash of defensiveness crosses his expression, as if he’s trying to prove he can handle more than someone his age should. His gaze flickers to his father, seeking approval in the way he tries to mask his excitement with guarded maturity.
Despite his young age, it’s clear that Mattia understands the weight of the world around him.
He shifts. “Ahh man. I don’t have curfew. Big boys don’t.”
“Apologies for shattering your illusion, young man, but you are indeed bound by a curfew.”
Mattia narrows his eyes at his father. “Don’t call me little.”
He turns to leave but stops briefly, his gaze flicking back to me, neither hostile nor welcoming. Just observing. Dante’s voice cuts through the quiet. “I’ll check in before you sleep.”
Mattia tenses, just slightly, before shrugging. “I’m not a baby,” he mutters. “You don’t have to tuck me in.”
Dante’s expression doesn’t change, but something lingers in his eyes, regret, maybe. Like he hates that his son already feels the need to prove himself so much.
“I know,” Dante says plainly. “But I’ll still come see you off to bed.”