Page 13 of Texting My Mafia Boss

“So I wanted to make you aware of something. As I said, it’snota big deal. I’ve been teaching for twenty years, and in my experience?—”

“Shall we cut to the chase?” I cut in.

She flinches, as if I’ve upset her. Great.

Miss Belle hands me a piece of paper. It shows a little girl with a ribbon in her hair, clearly Sylvie, standing on the left side of the page. Then there’s scribbled blackness, huge swathes of it like she’s angry. Shadows covering the page, and at its center… a man, a big red heart over a clumsily drawn suit jacket.

“Do you see?” Miss Belle asks.

I see instantly. This is Sylvie saying she wants to spend more time with her father. I think about two nights ago, when he was watching me from the end of the hallway. Either that or I’m going crazy and imagined his big bulk form moving through the semidarkness.

“Sylvie only ever has good things to say about her father,” Miss Belle says. “I’m not saying… well, anything. Except this is the sort of thing I make parents aware of. Or guardians. Or nannies.”

She’s sweating visibly, beads sliding down her forehead. Maybe she thinks I’m going to snap at her again. But I can only think about Sylvie right now.

“Thank you for bringing this to my attention. It was the right thing to do.”

She smiles in relief. “Really.”

“Thank you, Miss Belle. I’ll speak to Mr. Bellandi about it.”

Her eyebrows raise. Her smile turning tight. “Yes, that sounds correct.”

I thank her again, then leave the office. I realize I don’t know where the music room is, but then I hear Sylvie singing in a high-pitched voice. It’s off-key, and it might be the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.

I need to figure this out, for her. I’m not sure what to do. Do I go straight to Ettore?

Maybe I should speak with Livia first.

“It’s a drawing,” Livia says stiffly.

“I think it’s more than that,” I say, my tone pretty darn reasonable.

Livia folds her arms, looking down at the drawing on the table. We’re on the back porch as Sylvie practices ballet in the garden, giggling as she pirouettes her way through this luscious estate.

“I’ll agree there could be certain implications. If you were looking for them.”

Is she being serious? “You don’t have to look very hard,” I tell her.

She looks at me sharply. “That tone could do with some improvement.”

My head fills with rage. She’s suddenly become every bad care home worker or foster parent I ever had, the ones who seemingly chose this path in life to talk down to kids.

“So, you’re going to do nothing,” I say, keeping my voice steady.

“What do you imagine I should be doing? Sending her to the psych ward?”

My hands twitch. I want to scream. I really, really hate when people try to twist my words. It reminds me of an ex I had. I won’t even think his name.

“You could tell Ettore.”

She tilts her head. “I’m sure you mean Mr. Bellandi.”

“Yes, fine, whatever. Tell her father.”

“I’ll take it under consideration.” She turns and walks back into the house.

Yeah, right, she’s going to consider it while leaving the drawing on the table.