Chapter 4 My Bambina

She’s like a mongoose or a honey badger. She likes to dance and tease, and she’s deadly, but she’s never angry with what she does. Nothing seems to slip underneath her playful façade, even though there’s a predator underneath.

Amara is angry now.

“Amara…”

She holds up a hand. “Your funeral, brother.”

Then, she walks over to Alyssa.

The rest of the flight, she and Alyssa talk. They look at Anne, they help her to the bathroom. They give her snacks and make her laugh. When Anne laughs, sounds more pure than the clearest of bells.

It’s adorable.

My daughter.

She looks like me. Well, specifically, she looks like Amara, who I have memories of at that age. Her hair is long and curly, tamed into a braid by my sister and Alyssa. Her eyes look like Amara’s, but where Amara’s have always been full of mischief.

Her childhood has been good. I just know it.

Alyssa has done a wonderful job with her.

As the flight progresses, I realize there’s truth to Amara’s words. I need to figure out my place in their life.

Not their place in mine.

I also need to make sure that I think of Alyssa and Anne as a unit. They are one. The way that they move, the way they talk. It’s so clear to me that Alyssa and Anne have the type of bond that everyone hopes for in a mother and child.

A bond that, as her father, I should be grateful for.

The anger that I have for Alyssa is hot and fresh. It simmers on the surface of my mind, re-igniting so much of my rage at all of the Rodinos that have fermented and compressed over the past five years.

I know why she did it. I can’t decide if it makes me even angrier that I would have done the exact same thing, or if that’s just rage that’s compressed in there with everything else.

Could be a little of both, but I’m not going to take the time to separate it.

About an hour before we land in Rome, Alyssa shoots me a look. “Alessandro, why don’t you come tell Anne about the house?”

I look at Alyssa, who gives me an imperceptible nod.

I stand, walking over to the group. I settle into a chair and look at Anne..

She blinks. “Hello Mommy’s friend.”

“Hello.”

Jesus Dío, this is going to kill me. I have no idea how to talk to any child, let alone my own. I assume that some things are skills that one develops with fatherhood, and that is why I currently find myself so woefully bereft.

Yet another opportunity that Alyssa took from me.

“Mr. de Rossi, don’t you have a pool at your house?” Amara prompts.

I can’t decide if I love her or hate her. “Yes. I do.”

“I love to swim! Mommy says that I can pass the tadpole class soon and move on to minnows.”

I look at Alyssa and Amara helplessly. Minnow? I mouth.

“They’re different levels of proficiency with swimming. The very basic is tadpole. Just survival skills, really. How to float in the pool. How to kick,” Alyssa says softly.

Anne snorts. “Tadpole class is for babies,” she says with clear disdain for the concept.

She’s five. Isn’t she, herself, a baby?

“You sound like a good swimmer,” I try awkwardly.

To my surprise, Anne puffs up her chest. “I’m very good at swimming. Mommy even says that next summer I can swim and not even have my floaties.”

I don’t like the idea of her swimming without flotation devices. Drowning is one of my more popular methods for disposing of enemies.

It’s convenient, how quickly the water is able to steal breath from an opponent. After a time, they also become completely unrecognizable. Many drowning victims are never identified, especially if they’re sunk well enough in the ocean, because…

You’re a monster.

I reel back. “The pool will require flotation devices,” I say stiffly.

Anne’s face falls like I’ve given her the worst possible news. “But I’m almost a minnow,” she says sadly, her lower lip trembling.

My heart pounds. Have I hurt her feelings? Is she upset with me? Is she…

“We can practice for passing your minnow test in Mr.de Rossi’s pool,” Catherine says gently, patting the child’s back.

Anne turns, making a small, grumpy sound, and folds her arms. Tears are beginning to form at the corners of her eyes, and her little brow is furrowed in concentration. “No!” she shrieks.

“Anne. I’m going to count down from three. When I get to one, you can either use your words to tell me what’s wrong, or take a break for one minute. You choose,” Alyssa says patiently.

Anne clearly doesn’t like this. She squirms and kicks her feet, making noises like a small, angry kitten.

What is Alyssa doing? Why is she continuing to antagonize her child? I almost approach her, even going so far as to lean forward, but amara puts a hand on my chest.

Wait,her eyes seemed to say.

With that same measured, patient tone, Alyssa begins her countdown. When she gets to one, Anne spins, her tiny fists balled. “I am going to take a break!” she shrieks.

She stomps to the opposite end of the plane, settles in a seat, and folds her arms again.

I blink. “Why did you make her mad?” I growl at Alyssa.

Her eyes go hard. “I’m sorry. What?”

“All she wants is to swim in the pool. Without flotation devices. She will be perfectly safe. I would never let her drown. I would have a hundred men available to watch her. She can swim however she wants in my home!” I whisper-yell.

Alyssa sits back. “Do you always get your way when you throw a tantrum too?”

Amara’s laughter is as loud as a hyena in my ear.

“What did you say?” I growl.

Calm, collected, Alyssa blinks at me. “A tantrum. Anne just threw one. And so did you. So do you always get your way when you throw a tantrum?”

“He does!” Amara snort laughs, practically wiping tears from her eyes. “Oh Jesus, Mary and Joseph, he always does!”

 “I do not throw tantrums!” I snap at her, folding my arms.

This does nothing except make Amara laugh harder. “They even look alike!”

I glance back at my child, whose arms are folded…

Exactly like mine.

I put my hands by my sides. “She can swim however she wants,” I growl.

Alyssa sighs. “Brady, life is hard. Sometimes, things will happen that won’t go her way. She needs to have the skills to handle it when that happens. Which means that she should not get everything she wants. Especially if, in the long run, it’s something that would be better for her.

“Learning to swim is a better life skill than learning to rely on a hundred bodyguards to keep you from drowning.”

“She is my child,” I hiss. “She will never encounter a situation that won’t go her way.”

“It doesn’t matter how much you coddle her. How much you treat her like a princess, Alessandro,” Alyssa says softly. “There will be something that doesn’t go her way. Trust me,” she adds in an even lower voice.

She turns. “When you’re ready to talk, I’m ready to listen,” Alyssa calls to Anne.

Anne, who is more my daughter than I realized, huffs.

There’s a long silence on the plane. It’s long enough for me to realize three things.

One, I was nowhere close to being a parent. My mind did not work the way that Alyssa’s did.

Two, Alyssa’s words felt personal. Like she was talking from experience. I guess with three brothers, it’s always possible that she herself had been a little coddled growing up.

And three, which felt most important of all, Alyssa had used my name.

And I liked it.

Alyssa Russo POV

I shouldn’t have been surprised that, instead of going back to Florida, Alessando was flying us to Italy.

If I were him, I would do the same thing.

For one, the de Rossi business and mafia empire is based out of Italy. He has more soldiers there, more lieutenants, more capos, and generally more capability to batten down the hatches against whoever came after Anne and Nonna Mia.

Second, I told Alessandro on the phone that I had been held in Naples, Florida, prior to this. I had no doubt that Alessandro had many such properties squirreled away in the States, but with the addition of Anne, I had gone from being a hostage to…

Something else.

Broodmare, maybe?

I nearly barked out a harsh laugh at the thought. I hadn’t risen much in Alessandro’s estimation, and he clearly didn’t trust me still (hence why we were flying into his home turf) but I could see that he had designated some tasks to me.

Such as handling tantrums.

Truly, I shuddered to think about how quickly Brady would fold in the face of one of Anne’s legendary tantrums. She was a headstrong kid, which I didn’t mind, because I would prefer her to be strong-willed than passive.

Like her mother had been, once upon a time.

However, the sheer panic in his eyes at the little display she had given earlier was… well, slightly satisfying, if I was being honest.

Okay. Very satisfying.

Alessandro had clearly been terrified of the concept of continuing to guide Anne through her big feelings, and I had been only too happy to take the reigns. Hopefully, if all went according to plan, this would all just be a memory of an adventure in Anne’s mind. No harm, no foul.

Hopefully it wouldn’t completely screw her up for life.

And, hopefully Alessandro wouldn’t be much more than a memory for her. A nice man with a cool pool.

My heart cringed a little.

There had been a time when a family with Alessandro was my dream.

Now, unfortunately, it was a nightmare.

One that I was living.

By the time the plane landed, Anne was out again. As I thought, part of her tantrum situation had been the fact that she was tired.

Hungry, definitely not. I’m not even sure how, but Amara had produced enough snacks to feed an army, let alone a hungry five-year-old.

My estimation of Amara was slowly creeping up.

Watching her try to put Alessando in line was entertaining, to say the least. They definitely had an interesting dynamic.

It made me miss my own brothers.

On the phone, Joemar Russo had been furious. I had tried to give him as much information as I could, considering that Alessandro was breathing down my neck, but his tone promised that there would be hell to pay for whoever found out where Anne and Nonna Mia were.

Nonna Mia would recover. She was frightened and wanted to be sent back to the farm with some security, but she was a tough woman. She would be okay.

Joemar’s threats, however, chilled me to the bone.

He was going to do something stupid.

I can only hope that Enzo and Dante will be able to talk Joemar down off of the ledge.

Fat chance of that.

“We’re going to land in the next thirty minutes,” Amara whispers, looking at Anne sleeping in my arms.

I nod. “Can she stay?”

“Girl. It’s Brady’s jet. You can do whatever you want.”

I just hug Anne closer.

The plane lands smoothly. It’s early in Rome, and I have no idea where we’re going next. I don’t know if Alessandro has a house in the city, or outside of it, or…

“I can carry her,” he rumbles from behind me.

I curl tighter against my baby. “We’re fine.”

Alessandro studies me for a minute, then nods. “Fine. Have it your way.”

I will.

I rise and follow him, carefully walking down the stairs. There’s another sleek black car waiting for us on the runway, and we bundle Anne in without a word. Alessandro sits next to me, with Anne on the seat in between us, her head cozied in my lap. Amara rides up front with the driver.

Some ridiculous part of my mind panics, pointing out that we traveled without Anne’s passport. We’re going to get stopped by customs. She’s going to be taken away from me. I don’t have her birth certificate, I can’t prove she’s mine. I can’t…

I suck in a huge breath and let it out.

Alessandro smuggles millions of dollars worth of goods. For a living.

There’s no way that I need to worry about Anne’s passport when Alessandro is around.

It’s weirdly reassuring. At least I can count on him being a proficient criminal. At the very least.

The thought doesn’t exactly sit well, but I’m calmed by it nonetheless.

We don’t speak in the car. I’m not about to ask where we’re going, and it appears that Alessandro is not about to offer.

So when we pull up to an gorgeous villa, it’s all I can do to keep my jaw from dropping.

When I was little, I used to fantasize about moving to Italy. My dad did such a good job of making Italy seem like a magical place, where nothing bad could happen. The food was always perfect, the wine was always flawless, and nothing could ever ruin such a place.

When he described the Russo family home in Tuscany to us, I had envisioned something grand, sprawling, and very… Italian.

This villa blows all of my expectations out of the water.

The marble looks polished and worn at the same time, a kind of curated matte finish that I know was expensive to maintain. The house towers above us, looming tall and sprawling to either side with the kind of majesty and grace that evokes images of Europe in another time, Roman times.

There are fountains literally everywhere, and when we get out of the car the sound of them fills my ears.

“Nice, right?” Amara smiles. “Alessandro bought this for?—”

“Amara. Can I have a word with you in my office, please?”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes boss.”

The two of them stomp off, leaving Anne and me with a somewhat befuddled driver. I look awkwardly over my sleeping daughter’s shoulder. “Sorry, we don’t have any bags…”

My voice trails off at a shrill shriek. “Bambina!”

Oh, lord.

XXX