Page 63 of The Mafia King's Lost Son
“His name is Luca. He’s five. And I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“Most fathers don’t. They just pretend better.”
“I can’t afford to pretend. Not with him. Not when one wrong move could destroy whatever chance I have at being the father he deserves.”
Father Benedetto studies me for a long moment. “You’re afraid.”
“Terrified. I know how to kill. I know how to control. I know how to run an empire built on fear. But being gentle? Being patient? Being present for a child who needs stability?” I shake my head. “That’s harder than anything I’ve ever done.”
“Because it requires vulnerability. And you’ve spent your entire life building walls against that.”
“Those walls kept me alive.”
“They also kept you isolated. Alone. Until now.”
He’s right. I’ve been alone by choice and circumstance for so long that having people who matter feels foreign. Dangerous.
“There’s more,” I say. “The ledger. Antonio Marchetti’s insurance policy. People are still hunting for it, and they think Scarlett knows where it is.”
“Does she?”
“Not consciously. But she’s starting to remember things from that night. Fragments. Pieces. And every memory traumatizes her again.”
“So you’re caught between protecting her and hurting her.”
“Exactly. I need those memories to keep them both safe. But extracting them means making her relive the worst night of her life.”
Father Benedetto is quiet for a moment. “Do you love her?”
The question catches me off guard. “I don’t know what love is supposed to feel like.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I can’t stop thinking about her. Can’t stand the thought of losing her. I want to possess every part of her until there’s nothing left that isn’t mine. Is that love?”
“It could be. Or it could be obsession. The difference is whether you want what’s best for her or what’s best for you.”
I think about that. About how I’ve been handling things with Scarlett. About the control and the rules and the constant battles.
“I want both,” I finally admit. “I want her safe. I want her with me. And I want her to stop fighting me every step of the way.”
“But if she stopped fighting, would you still want her?”
The question hits harder than it should. Because he’s right. The fire in Scarlett, the refusal to submit, the constant challenge—that’s what draws me to her. If she became compliant andobedient, she’d be just like everyone else who fears me. And I don’t want that.
“She makes me better,” I say quietly. “Forces me to be more than just the violence and control. Makes me try, even when I don’t know how.”
“Then that’s your answer. That’s love, Dante. Not the obsession or possession, but the wanting to be better because of someone.”
“I don’t know how to be better. I only know how to be what I am.”
“You’re a father now. That requires you to learn. To grow. To choose your child’s future over your past.”
“What if I choose wrong?”
“Then you try again. Being a father isn’t about perfection. It’s about showing up. Being present. Making choices that put your child first, even when they’re hard.”
We talk for another hour about faith and redemption and whether someone like me can ever be more than the sum of my violence. Father Benedetto doesn’t have easy answers, but he offers perspective I desperately need.
