Page 51 of Texting My Mafia Boss

I can’t promise her that.

“I hope so,” I reply. “But if he isn’t, it’s because something really, really important has come up.”

She blinks. “More important than me?”

Livia makes a quiet choking noise. I swallow a lump of emotion.

“No, angel, no,” I say quickly. “I’m sorry. Grownups are complicated sometimes.”

She huffs and folds her arms. “Fine, let’s just go.”

“You’ve worked so hard. You’re going to be amazing.”

“And I’m going to record the whole thing,” Livia says, holding up her phone.

“Blah blah blah,” Sylvie snaps. “That’s allIhear. Blah blah blahblah.”

“Do you still want to go?” I ask softly.

“I don’t want to let down the troupe,” she says. “Soyes, let’s go.”

I silently note that she didn’t say yes, she wants to go. She’s such a sweet girl. Putting her friends before herself.

“I’m proud of you,” I say.

“And he probably will meet us there,” Livia adds.

I glare at her without meaning to. Livia’s face hardens, more like the version of the woman I met when I first arrived here. She doesn’t understand how much this can hurt a child.

Standing, I take out my phone and shoot off a quick text.

Mara: We’re going to have to meet you here.

His reply comes instantly.

Ettore: I’ll be there. I promise. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.

Yeah, we’ll see…

Livia and I sit in the front row with an empty seat between us. It’s painfully obvious that Ettore hasn’t and isn’t going to show up. Sylvie and her troupe prance onto the stage, and Sylvieglances at the empty chair with a look of profound sadness on her face. Then she pushes the sadness away and focuses on her performance.

The masking is almost as painful as the hurt. I know what that feels like. She’s going to bury all this rage and heartache. She’s going to internalize it.

Every time Sylvie exits and then enters the stage – giving a flawless performance each time – she glances at the empty seat. I plaster a smile to my face, but I’m seething inside. He promised her. He swore he’d be here. This is unacceptable.

I’m probably overstepping my boundaries as a nanny, even thinking this, but screw it. What right does he have? This little girl spent so many hours working on this. And all so that her daddy could see her perform.

At the end of the show, when we’re all standing and clapping, Sylvie’s sad face returns. She looks down at me with a shaky smile. I give her two big enthusiastic thumbs-ups, but it’s not even close to being a replacement for her father.

My phone vibrates in my pocket as Sylvie exits the stage. It’s Ettore.

Ettore: That was incredible. I’m so proud of her.

Mara: Are you here?

Ettore: I’m in the booth.

I turn and look through the darkness. Sure enough, there he is, a huge silhouette in the semidarkness. I turn to Livia. “Can you please go and get Sylvie and meet us at the car?”