My gaze fell, for what felt like the hundredth time, on Elio as he played on the rug while I sat on the couch, a book in my hands. Alma hummed softly in the kitchen as she prepared him some compote.
These past fifteen months had been nothing short of chaotic, between the delivery, preparing the baby's room, and the sleepless nights that had drained an Alma already exhausted from childbirth. I had tried to help as much as I could, cleaning, cooking, running errands but I had work too. It hadn't been easy, but somehow, we had made it past those first months, thank God.
Everything had slowly fallen back into place, and we had found a rhythm. The past fifteen months had settled into something stable… even if my relationship with the kid remained… complicated. I was still uncomfortable around him, and he didn't seem to like me much either. Honestly, maybe if he made a little effort, I'd feel more sympathy but all he did was cry the moment I got close or throw his toys at me. He must have gotten that temper from his damn father.
"Stop staring at him like that, for God's sake," Alma sighed from the counter. I shook my head without taking my eyes off him over the top of my book.
"One wrong move and he'll throw his toy car straight at my knee. I don't know how, but he already knows exactly where it hurts the most," I muttered, which made my friend laugh from the kitchen.
I froze when Elio suddenly turned, his blue eyes locking onto mine, as if he had understood I was talking about him. He blinked, staring at me, then pushed himself up onto his knees, never breaking eye contact. I straightened on the couch, setting my book aside, ready to dodge whatever he might launch at me.
"Alma! Your son is looking at me weird," I grumbled, pulling my knees up to my chest. Elio frowned, pushing against his hands. His little backside lifted as he stood up on his feet, without holding onto the coffee table or the couch. That was new. Usually, he stood by gripping furniture or crawled around the apartment at alarming speed. I had nearly stepped on him once, seriously, the little demon slipped everywhere.
So… babies walked at fifteen months.
"Uh… Alma!" I called again as Elio took a step toward me, arms outstretched, brows furrowed.
"What is it—… Oh my God, Elio! You're walking!" Alma gasped, her eyes wide as she looked at her son. "Wait… I need… a video!" she panicked, searching for her phone while her son kept moving toward me.
"Mama! Go to mama, come on!" I tried to redirect him, pointing toward Alma. I turned toward my friend, who was spinning in circles in the kitchen, looking for her phone. Oh, for God's sake.
"Alma—" I stopped when something grabbed my hands. My gaze dropped to Elio's small fingers wrapping around mine as he took his final steps toward me.
"Na…na," he articulated, lifting his blue eyes to mine before offering what looked like a smile, revealing tiny white teeth, some still missing. I stared at him for a moment, lips pressed together. The urge to pick him up stirred in me… but I shook my head instead.
I simply patted his head gently before turning him toward the kitchen, where his mother had finally found her phone.
The moment he saw Alma, he headed straight for her without hesitation, while she started filming, encouraging him. I crossed my arms, a faint smirk tugging at my lips as I watched them. Maybe the kid hadn't taken everything from his father after all.
My phone suddenly started ringing in my bedroom, where I had left it charging. I got up, abandoning my book, and grabbed it but froze when I saw the name on the screen. I closed my bedroom door, muffling Elio's babbling and Alma's laughter, then answered.
"Sarah," I said, walking toward my window to look out at the back courtyard of my building. The weather was miserable. No snow had fallen this January, just rain and mud.
"Sanaa, how are you?" the woman on the other end asked, her voice familiar. A voice that brought back too many memories—painful, exhausting… but also satisfying.
"What happened?" I asked, closing my eyes, already bracing for the worst. If Sarah was calling, something had gone wrong.
"Still as cold as ever," she sighed, and I heard her sit on the creaking chair in her office. "We have news about the Italians," she continued. I grimaced. Not good. My fingers brushed the cold glass, tapping lightly.
"Massimo Salvatore's father was assassinated yesterday."
"Assassinated," I repeated, resting my forehead against the window. "By who?"
"We don't know yet. Could be the Russians… or the Chinese," she replied. I turned away from the window, thinking.
"So Massimo…"
"He's the new Capo of the Salvatore family," she said. "The funeral is tomorrow. After that, he'll officially take control."
"He won't take long to marry, then. If he wants to assert dominance, he'll need an heir," I commented, pacing.
"Most likely. From what we know, the Salvatore matriarch has approached the Rasili family about a potential union with Alia Rasili," she added with a sigh.
"And… no one suspects his existence, right?" I murmured, as if someone might hear me.
"No, Sanaa. No one suspects anything. Alma went into hiding before her pregnancy even showed," Sarah reassured me. "He's safe. They are. With you, nothing can happen to them. And we've got your back."
I closed my eyes, exhaling slowly, forcing myself to calm down. Control. I needed control.
"How is he?" I asked, changing the subject sitting on the edge of my bed, running a hand through my hair.
"Busy. Working. Controlling. Losing his temper. Eating. Calming down… then starting all over again," she said. Despite myself, a faint smile brushed my lips.
"He's currently in the UK, you should call him one of these days. He'd like that," she added. I grimaced. Bad idea.
"Thanks for the update. Call me if anything changes," I said, hanging up before she could insist.
Call him? Yeah, right. He could call me. I tossed my phone onto the bed and grabbed my laptop from my desk. I powered it on and searched for news about the Salvatore Capo's death, nothing. Not surprising. Everything in the underworld stayed in the underworld. Then I typed Massimo Salvatore's name into the search bar. Nothing.
No photos. No articles. No information.
Neither Sarah nor her team knew much about him either. Families like his didn't leave traces for confidentiality and security. I was about to close my laptop when a folder on my desktop caught my attention.
I froze. My lips pressed together as my cursor hovered over it again and again.
"Wei 16/03/07."
It called to me like honey to a bee. My fingertips tingled. My blood rushed faster through my veins. My muscles twitched, remembering sensations, old, familiar ones.
"Sanna?" Alma's voice snapped me out of it from the other side of the door. I shut my laptop quickly, inhaling sharply as if waking from a trance. I frowned, shaking my head, then stood and opened the door.
"Everything okay?" she asked, studying me. I cleared my throat and nodded.
"Yes. Everything's perfectly fine." I brushed past her, returning to the living room, narrowly avoiding the crawling race car trying to reach its mother in the hallway.
"Are you sure?" she insisted, bending down to pick up her son. I nodded, grabbing my book again.
"Perfectly." There was no reason for Alma to know about what was happening with the Salvatores. She would never cross paths with them again. Worrying her would be pointless, just stressful. And that was the last thing she needed. Nothing mattered more than her happiness and Elio's.
She sighed but didn't push further, placing her son back into the playpen we had set up a few months earlier, once he had learned to crawl like a rocket. A safety measure.
After a moment of brooding in her room, Alma came back and joined me on the couch.
"I got you something," she said suddenly. I lifted my gaze, suspicious.
Uh-oh.
We were complete opposites, physically, mentally, emotionally. Everything set us apart… and yet we worked perfectly together. The orphanage director used to say we balanced each other. Alma's warmth softened my edges, while my cynicism protected her gentle heart.
But our differences always showed in our gifts.
For example for her last birthday, I had bought her an aquarium, she loved watching fish swim in the lake near our neighborhood. She had scolded me an entire day, saying no creature should be trapped away from its natural environment.
And she had gifted me a ski weekend, because I liked sports.
Except I hated snow.
So yes… I was worried.
"Really?" I asked slowly. She nodded, excited, handing me a ticket. I took it cautiously. A VIP pass.
"Is this what I think it is?" I asked.
"Yes! A VIP ticket for the collectors' event after the showroom!" she beamed. "The collector with the Ferrari Monza SV2 will be there!"
"SP2," I corrected softly, eyes dropping back to the ticket. I had wanted to see that car for years. My father's favorite. We even had a photo together with one. This time… she had gotten it right. Unfortunately.
"I can't go, Alma. It's in New York."
She pouted.
"You'll wear a cap and a mask on the way! And a wig at the event if you have to! But you have to go," she insisted. "You've wanted this for so long!" I sighed, staring at the ticket. I shouldn't even consider it. Too dangerous. One person recognizing me… and four years of hiding would be gone.
"It's in a few months, Nana. We'll figure something out," she added with a wink and I couldn't help but smirk.
"You shouldn't have wasted your money, idiot," I said, shaking my head. She hit my knee.
"Let me spend my money however I want! We deserve this after everything," she snapped. She wasn't wrong. Since she had inherited her parents' money, things had been easier. She would never need to work again.
Elio and her… would have a peaceful life.
Even if I wasn't around.
"By the way, what do you think about going on vacation next year? Once Elio turns two?" she asked, sitting up, eyes shining.
"Why not. Somewhere warm." I smiled faintly and she jumped up.
"Yes! A tropical island, beaches—ugh, I love it!"
I watched her dance around the living room, her son laughing from the playpen. A soft chuckle escaped me as her blonde hair swirled around her. She hadn't changed at all. Still the same Alma from the orphanage. My only real friend.
And the one thing in this world I would never trade.