Too Late, Don Amato

After I discovered that my Mafia husband, Don Dante Amato, still couldn't let go of his first love, Bianca, and the son she had with another man, I taught our son to call him "Don Amato." When our son came down with a fever, Bianca called my husband away in the middle of the night. I stroked his burning forehead and taught him to say, "Goodbye, Don Amato." Dante had promised to present our son to the whole Amato Family at a family dinner — to formally announce him as the future heir. Yet on the night of the dinner, Bianca called, crying that her own son had no father by his side. Dante left without a second thought. I didn't argue. I just had our son stand in front of the entire Family and explain, "Don Amato has someone more important to take care of." It wasn't until Dante finally realized how disappointed we were in him that he suggested we take a family portrait together. Outside the photo studio, Bianca called again, crying for Dante's help. "Dante, the kids at daycare are making fun of Gabe for not having a dad. Can you come pick him up and pretend to be his father?" Dante looked conflicted. He turned to our son, as if about to explain everything. But this time, our son didn't need my reminder. He waved Dante off. "It's okay, Don Amato. Go take care of the other child. Mom and I will manage the family photo just fine." Chapter 1 For a moment, Dante and I both froze, neither of us able to say a word. It had been twenty-eight days since I finally understood exactly where my husband's heart lived—and it wasn't with us. Every time he chose Bianca Conti and her son over Nico and me, I had our son call him "Don Amato." I told myself it was so the two of us wouldn't waste one more tear on a man who didn't deserve them. But Nico didn't see it that way. He was only seven—the age when a boy still worships his father, still believes he can do no wrong. Usually, the hesitation came first—a long pause, then the word would come out small and unsure. But today, he said it on his own, without waiting for me. Clean. Fluent. Like he'd rehearsed it in his head a thousand times, just waiting for the moment he could finally say it without flinching. Seeing us both frozen, Nico didn't wait for either of us to speak first. He reached out and took my hand himself. "Don Amato, go handle your business." Then he turned to me and slipped his small hand into mine. "Come on, Mom. We're going to be late for our appointment." The family portrait had been Dante's idea—his way of making up for the family dinner he'd missed. Nico had circled today's date on the calendar two weeks in advance. I followed my son out of the photo studio, my spine locked straight. It all began with a receipt. It was a bill from a yacht restaurant—three guests listed, one of them a child. For his seventh birthday, all Nico had wished for was a family trip out on a yacht—fishing together, dinner on the water, watching the sunset. Dante had called it a waste of time. He'd stayed just long enough to have dinner with Nico at home, then left. A few days later, he took Bianca and her son instead. I found the photos on Bianca's social media page. The caption read: [The best sunset should always be watched with the best father.] The picture showed the three of them on the deck of the yacht, Dante and Bianca each with a hand on the boy between them. Bianca was Dante's first love. Years ago, when the Amato Family went to war with a rival house, Dante had her sent out of the city overnight to keep her safe. By the time she came back, she was already a widow with a son of her own. That night, we had the worst fight of our marriage. I told him I wanted a divorce, and that I was taking Nico with me. Dante sighed and called me impossible. He asked how I could bear to let our son grow up without a father in the house, and told me that Bianca's father had once saved his life—that it was a debt he had to repay. I looked at Nico's face, gone pale with fear at the sound of us shouting, and I made a decision. I knew that if I tore Nico away by force, he'd never be able to forget Dante. But I also knew this wouldn't be a one-time thing. I didn't want Nico or myself to suffer through it again and again, so I chose a quieter way—I tricked Dante into signing the divorce papers. When I handed the signed agreement to my father's lawyer, he gave me a warning. "Elena, when your father married you into the Amato Family, he invested a substantial amount of capital into the Amato family's business. Once your marriage is dissolved, you have the right to initiate a capital withdrawal—the funds are subject to a thirty-day settlement period. Are you certain you want to go through with this?" I nodded. "I'm certain." The lawyer started the settlement process. I had thirty days. I started teaching Nico to call his father by a different name. Today was day twenty-eight. And for the first time, Nico had said "Don Amato" completely on his own, without any cue from me. I could feel him trembling faintly against my side. It didn't feel like a victory. It felt like a thousand needles finding my heart all at once. We were halfway across the street when Dante finally snapped out of it. He jogged a few steps after us, already opening his mouth to ask Nico what he'd meant. But before he could get the question out, his phone rang. Bianca again—that same practiced, breathless catch in her voice. "Dante, where are you? Gabe won't stop crying—I can't soothe him." Dante stopped walking. He stood there staring at our backs, phone pressed to his ear, and said, "Okay. I understand. I'm on my way." Then he texted me two words—talk later—before turning on his heel and walking away without looking back. I heard the engine roar to life behind us. I heard it pull away, farther and farther, until there was nothing left to hear. Nico stopped, burying his face in my side until I felt his tears soak straight through my blouse. "Mom." His voice was barely a whisper against my side. "Can we just not have a dad anymore?" Chapter 2 We never took the photo. I brought Nico home and started packing. While I was booking our flights, Bianca sent me a photo. She was standing next to Dante, her arm looped through his, wearing an obsidian ring. I recognized it instantly—the Amato Family's Donna's Ring. Only the Don's wife was permitted to wear it. Dante had slid that same ring onto my own finger with his own hands, the day I married him. And now, somehow, it was on Bianca's. A second message followed close behind. "Elena, doesn't it look beautiful? Dante says this ring belongs to the real Donna." The old me would have bitten back immediately. Now, looking at the screen, there was only one word left in me: pathetic. I booked two one-way tickets for the day after tomorrow—to Catania, straight into Rossi territory. The payment had barely gone through when I heard the front door. Dante walked in holding a box of tiramisu. Nico and I both froze at the sight of it. Dante hated tiramisu. Had refused to touch it since the day I met him. And of course, Nico loved it just as much as I did. Every year on his birthday, Dante let him pick his own cake, but never once thought to buy him one himself. So why was he standing in the house now, holding the one dessert he'd never once chosen on his own? Nico and I exchanged a look, both equally stunned. Dante came further in, saw the open suitcases on the floor, and his face changed. "Gabe was crying hard, so I stayed a while longer. On the way back I remembered you two love tiramisu, so I picked one up." His eyes moved to the luggage. "What's with all the luggage? Are you going somewhere?" I shook my head. Then nodded. "Something like that." Two days remained before the thirty-day window closed. I wasn't going to risk anything now. Something in my answer seemed to ease the tension in his shoulders—relief, plain and simple. He kept going. "The studio called, said you two never showed. I had them move it to tomorrow. This time I promise I won't flake." He crouched down in front of Nico, his jaw tight, his eyes softening into something that looked terribly like sincerity. Nico's hands stopped on the little suit jacket he was folding. He looked at Dante, then at me—caught somewhere between wanting to believe it and knowing better than to. I saw that wanting. It got me, the way it always did. "Okay," I said. It was going to be the last time either way. Nico's whole face lit up. He bolted straight for his room. Once he was gone, I went back to folding clothes into the suitcase. Dante drifted over and stood beside me. "About Nico calling me Don Amato today..." My heart skipped a full beat. I looked up at him. Dante knelt beside me, setting the tiramisu by my hand, his voice worn thin. "Elena, I know what you're thinking. That I've been too good to Bianca, that I've let it cost you and Nico." "But I swear to you, I'm only paying back what I owe her father. She's raising that boy alone. I can't stand by and let her carry it by herself." He took my hand and pressed it flat against his chest, right over his heart. "Just give me a little more time. I'll get things sorted with Bianca and her son properly. I won't let you or Nico pay for it anymore." I looked at him, my hand dead against his heartbeat, giving him nothing. I could hardly remember the last time he'd looked at me that way—like I was irreplaceable. Maybe our wedding day. Standing on the grounds of the Amato estate, he had taken my hand before both our families, swearing by God and blood that he would honor me for the rest of his life. Or maybe the day Nico was born. In that quiet delivery room, Dante had cradled our newborn son like porcelain—fragile, sacred. He'd leaned close to whisper, "Elena, as long as I draw breath, you and our boy will never want for anything. You will never be forsaken." I sat with those memories a long time, saying nothing. And then I made up my mind to tell him the truth. "Dante, actually—" Chapter 3 "Oh—where did I put the gold pocket watch?" Before I could even finish, he stood up. "The one my father passed down to me, the one I showed Nico before. Gabe's gotten curious about it, so I'm letting him keep it for a few days." He didn't wait for an answer. He went straight to the study and took the gold watch out of the safe. He grabbed his keys, and before I could say another word, he was already out the door. The door shut behind him with a bang. His shape flickered past the window, and then he was gone. I stood there, staring at the closed door for a long time. Then I said the sentence he'd never let me finish, alone, to myself. "Actually—my son and I don't need you anymore." Two days left before we were gone for good. Near midnight, once I'd finally finished packing, I lay down, worn straight through. My phone lit up. A message from Dante. [Gabe loves the watch. Won't even take it off to sleep. Bianca said to tell you thank you.] It was already midnight, and my husband was texting me to pass along another woman's gratitude. The anger simply wouldn't come. The ending was already written, no matter what I did. I opened the thread and typed back. [No need to thank me. I wasn't the one who gave it to him.] [Also—Nico really loves that watch. Make sure you bring it back.] I sent it and closed my eyes. I didn't stay awake to see how it landed on his end. At eight the next morning, Dante came home early—rare for him. He stepped inside, started shrugging off his coat, and stopped dead at the sight of the suitcases lined up in the living room. "That's a lot of luggage for a trip." He strode into the bedroom without bothering to take off his coat, his composure cracked. I was dressing Nico and didn't turn around. "We're going somewhere far." He looked straight at our son instead, and something in him eased once Nico nodded back at him. He set his coat aside and pulled three tickets to the amusement park from inside his jacket. "Haven't you always been upset that I never took him to the amusement park?" He fanned the tickets out, pleased with himself. "I bought tickets for today. The three of us, together." For a second, I genuinely doubted I'd heard him right. The amusement park. I'd asked him about it once, and he never agreed. Why was he suddenly buying tickets today? Then I thought of the message from last night, still sitting unanswered, and it clicked. He hadn't brought the watch back. This was his way of making it up to Nico instead. I didn't answer. I kept buttoning Nico's shirt. Nico could barely contain himself, staring at me intently. "Mom, I want to go!" I was about to answer when Dante added something behind me. "There's just—one condition, if we go today. Bianca found out we're retaking the family portrait, and she's worried Gabe will hear about it and get upset, so... let's push the portrait back again." Guilt was written all over his face as he said it. Nico went still. I watched the light drain slowly out of his eyes. "Oh..." He dropped his head and said nothing else. His eyes had gone red. Dante didn't notice. He kept going. "It's just one small thing Bianca asked for. I thought about it—shouldn't matter much. We'll skip it this time. There's always a next time." He turned to Nico. "Right, buddy?" He had no idea that by tomorrow, we would be gone for good. He thought he was buying time. He was just running out of it. But neither Nico nor I said a word about it. We just nodded. "Okay." "Sure." Dante's whole face relaxed, relief written across it plain as day. "I'll go tell Bianca now. We'll meet at the park at three." He turned to leave. Near the door, he glanced back. "My Donna. My son. Nobody is better to me than you two." Neither of us answered that either. The second the door closed behind him, Nico slid off the bed and pulled an already-packed backpack out of the closet. "Mom. I don't want to see Don Amato again. Can we leave early?" Chapter 4 I changed our flight. Moved it up to three o'clock that afternoon. Once the passenger details were confirmed, I moved straight into the last of what needed doing before we left for good. At nine, I made breakfast in that house for the last time. The tiramisu Dante had brought home the night before was still sitting in the fridge. Nico pulled it out himself and dropped it straight into the trash. At ten, the Rossi family's lawyer called to tell me the settlement process was complete and asked where he should wire the funds. "To my own account," I said. While I was finishing the last of the preparations, Bianca's newest post crossed my feed. [The Don's gold watch is incredible. Gabe adores it—says he wishes he could keep it forever.] Nico saw it too. He didn't say anything about it. He just looked up. "Mom. Let's go." By one, we'd finished lunch and were dragging our bags toward the airport. We still had two full hours before the time Dante thought he was meeting us. The whole ride, Nico held my phone, scrolling through photos of him and Dante. His christening, Dante holding him high, showing him off to the whole Family. Age three, the day Dante first showed him the gold watch, the two of them posing together with it cupped between their hands. And this year—before Bianca and Gabe—a video of Dante teaching him to ride a horse. He watched them over and over. He didn't cry. The grief just filled every inch of the car anyway. He was too young to grasp why his father had changed overnight, pouring everything into someone else's boy. But after the past month, he had slowly learned to live with it. I sat beside him and said nothing at all. At two, we were about to clear security when Dante's call came through. "Elena, tell Nico I'm sorry—Gabe's hurt, I have to take him to the hospital." "I'm not sure I'll make it by three. If you can't wait, just go on without me." "Tell Nico I'm sorry!" He hung up so fast he didn't even hear the boarding call in the background. "Let's go," I said, taking Nico's hand. He nodded, selected all the photos and videos on the phone and deleted them in a single sweep. Three o'clock exactly, the plane lifted off on schedule. I fit the headphones over Nico's ears and looked out at the blue stretching past the window, and something in my chest, pulled tight for so long, finally let go. Goodbye, Dante Amato. At that same moment, Dante left Bianca crying in the hospital and sprinted toward the amusement park.