Page 21 of Secret Babies for the Italian Mafia Boss

I find it difficult to get out of bed today.

My life has changed drastically in the past week. I haven’t been through this many changes since my dad kicked me out.

He died six days ago.

And I’m devastated.

I didn’t think I’d be. I was so used to being without him that it was like he was dead.

Reality is different.

My dad died, and we ended on indifferent terms. He did get to meet his grandchildren. It’s the one thing I did for him, which was more than he had ever done for me in the last five years. While I wasn’t completely comfortable with him meeting Olivia and Oliver, I made it happen because I knew I had to be better than the rage he made me feel. Seeing the kids with him and seeing my dad smile through the illness that consumed him was nice.

I press my hands against my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to subdue the tears. There was so much resentment between us over the last five years, but right now, I remember when he told me he loved me.

The times he kissed me on the forehead.

The times he wanted Marco to protect me.

The times when I was little, and he tucked me into bed and read me a bedtime story.

All those memories are bombarding me, and I don’t know how to deal with them. I haven’t thought of them in years.

“Mommy? What’s wrong? You want my teddy?” Olivia hands over the teddy bear she’s had since she was a newborn. It’s still in pretty good condition, but it’s missing an eye.

“I’d love your teddy. I’m just sad, baby. I’ll be okay. We have to get ready to go. Okay? It’s time to take a bath.”

“Where are we going?”

“We’re going to go say bye to someone that was really important to me.”

“Is that why you’re crying?”

I don’t answer. Instead, I nod because I know if I answer, I’ll sob. I have to remain strong for them. They have never seen me cry, and I want to keep it like that.

They don’t know about my dad. I never said a word to them about him, so they are spared the pain of missing him.

It all happened so fast. Coming here. Seeing Dad again. Talking to him. Trying, maybe, to mend a bridge, and I barely had time to process it all.

Then he died.

He died thinking I hated him.

I did.

But I loved him, too, and there’s a fine line between love and hate.

A knock on the door sounds, and I stand from the bed. We’re staying in an apartment above the bakery. Dad offered me to stay at the estate, to have that big house, but I declined.

I want nothing to do with it, and it’s important that I stand on my own two feet like I have been. So I rented out the space from my dad. I don’t know who I’ll pay rent to now, but I’ll figure it out.

“Why don’t you get the bath ready, and I’ll be there in a minute to help?”

Olivia tilts her chin to her chest and twirls her hair around her finger. “Mommy, I’m a big girl. I don’t need your help.” She huffs, spinning on her heel and stomping to the bathroom.

“Well, excuse me!” I shout as she closes the door.

“You’re excused.” Her voice is muted by the flow of water filling the tub.

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