Page 115 of The Mafia King's Acquisition
That might as well be my second superpower. Avoidance.
My phone ringing startles me half to death. I squeal, clutching my chest, while Roscoe immediately stands up straighter. When I check the screen, it’s Valentina. I pick up the call before I’ve expelled a full breath.
“He’s fine,” my best friend says as soon as the line connects. “He just lost a lot of blood last night.”
“Where is he?” I question lowly, so many things sliding through my chest I don’t know where to begin.
I focus on the relief, though. Because at least he’s alive.
Roscoe and I jump into action immediately after the call ends. I reenter my bedroom, heading straight for the sleeping little boy.
“Leo, I’ll be back soon, okay?” I say softly.
His eyes flit open, and he looks at me with the cutest befuddled expression.
“Are you going to see Daddy? Is he okay?” he asks quietly, and I force myself to nod.
The question tugs painfully at my heart, far more than I’m prepared for.
Why would a little boy have to ask if his father is okay?
My throat tightens as I fight back tears. Of course Leo knows more than he should about the life he was born into. Children always know, even when you try to shield them from it.
They hear the whispers. See the bruises. Notice the tension in every hurried phone call and every late-night disappearance.
But hearing that fear in his voice breaks something inside me. A child shouldn’t have to wonder if his father is coming home alive.
Instinctively, my hand drifts to my stomach.
To the baby growing inside me.
Another innocent child tied to a world built on violence and bloodshed before they’ve even taken their first breath.
“He’s fine, sweet boy.”
“I want to go see him too.” Leo sits up. “Where is he?”
“Your Uncle Sal and Aunt Val’s,” I tell him. “And I know you want to see your dad, but how about I go first and makesure everything is absolutely okay? As soon as I get to him, I’m putting my phone in his hand and calling so you can talk to him.”
He nods slowly. “Okay.”
I lean closer to the bed, taking a seat on it and pulling him into a big hug.
“I’m happy you’re here, Lin. It’s great.”
My heart thaws. “I’m really glad I’m here, too, sweetie.”
He’s quiet for a moment, picking at the edge of the blanket. Then, in a smaller voice: “Lin?”
“Yeah, bud?”
He doesn’t look up right away. When he does, his eyes are very serious for a five-year-old.
“I have a mommy. Daddy showed me pictures of her. She sends them at Christmas.”He pauses.“But she’s not here. She’s never here.”
My throat closes. I don’t say anything. I wait.
“Can you be my mommy too?”
