The Mafia Queen's Husband

Chapter thirteen - Dante

14 years ago

I hate parties.

These fake ass gatherings where our business partners come and pretend to be our friends, foregoing the fact that they'd stab us in the back the minute a better offer is on the table.

But this one is especially excruciating. It's my eighteenth birthday party.

It's been two months since my mom's suicide, and here I am, having a party.

Although, a lot of things has happened since her death, and this one pales in comparison to the others.

I pass through the second floor hallway faster, trying to get to my cigs - my headache getting worse by the second - when a voice from Sebastian's room stops me.

"Stupid, stupid tie!"

I peer through his half open door, all the while telling myself to ignore him. Just like I have done since he came to live with us a month ago.

I hate him more than I hate the parties. He is the reason my mom is dead. She killed herself because of him.

In my more charitable moments, I can acknowledge the fact that he is just a six year old kid whose mother just died in a car crash. I realize that he is an innocent victim caught up in my father's illegitimate activities.

But most of the time I am too consumed by my own grief to give a shit about his big tearful eyes when I yell at him to stop following me. The strange thing is he always comes back. Maybe he is just stupid. Who knows?

Right now though, I decide to do my good deed of the day and help him out with his tie since he is clearly struggling.

"That's not how it's done."

He squeaks in surprise and stumbles on his clothes on the floor, falling right on his ass.

"Ouch! You really scared me. Didn't no one ever teach you to knock or—" He cuts himself off when he sees my out stretched hand from where I am looming over him.

I can hear his exaggerated gulp before he takes my hand shakily, his big, weird purple eyes never leaving mine.

He's small. Smaller than I was at his age, and he looks nothing like me or my father. The kid is fucking beautiful with such an innocent face, it makes me hate him.

I have no choice but to drop down to one knee before him to help him with his tie. I can feel his wary eyes staring at me, he's trying to figure out why I am being nice to him. I would tell him if I knew.

Maybe it's because of how I can hear his muffled cries throughout the night. Or maybe it's because of how I know exactly how he feels right now. And I keep wondering how can a child ever recover from a pain of losing a mother.

"Is it really your birthday today?" He tilts his head at me.

I grunt in affirmation.

"Happy birthday!" His smile is so big, his damn dimples pop out. Then I wonder how he can smile at all. "Is there a cake, too? I love cakes. Last year, I had a spider-man cake for my birthday. Mama and I made it together. It didn't look good, but mama said it's okay because it tasted perfect. It was the best day ever, except when she made me clean the kitchen with her. And she also got me this big—"