Undressed By The Mafia God

He had never actually deluded himself into thinking he would live until his non-existent hair was grey anyway.

Valentina’s face rose in his mind.

His Valentina.

He pressed two fingers against his eyes and breathed through it then started out of his room. He didn’t plan on telling Carol, because God help him, the woman would throw him in jail just to keep him alive.

Once Marco reached the ground floor, he paused near the staircase and looked back up. He thought about leaving Carol a note.

In the end, he decided against it. He would send her a text once he had boarded the flight. At least from the safety of an aircraft, there would be no risk of Carol blocking the door, or sedating him.

Marco stepped into the kitchen for a bottle of water. The house was quiet and peaceful. He opened the fridge, took a bottle of water, and started to leave.

Then the floor lamp in the living room came on. Marco stopped and turned. Carol was lying on the sofa.

One arm tucked beneath her head, one leg crossed over the other, wrapped in a dressing gown.

"Ma?!" Marco called, startled. "What... did you sleep down here?"

Carol sat up. "Luca called me. Told me to make sure you do not leave." She smiled. "Your brother knows you."

Marco exhaled and stepped fully into the living room. "Ma, I have to go."

"No, you do not."

"I cannot leave him to deal with this alone."

"When I asked you to stay behind in Italy all those years ago and take care of my son," Carol said, "I did not mean it quite as literally as you took it."

Two boys made by violence in different ways. One born to inherit it. One taken in by it. She had asked Marco to stay, to look after Luca, to make sure her son did not become entirely unreachable inside the world Massimo had built around him.

Marco had stayed. And somewhere along the way, staying had become his whole life.

"I didn’t want him to be alone," Carol continued. "That is why I asked you to stay. I didn’t mean sacrifice yourself again and again."

"Ma..." He stepped forward, but she lifted a hand.

"You have turned suffering into a hobby. It is exhausting to watch."

"Do you really want me hiding out here? Don will not let this go," Marco said. "Everyone will suffer for it. You. Luca, goodness, even Veronica." He paced once, then stopped himself because he could feel the panic trying to crawl up his spine. He had been still for too long. Hidden for too long. And now New York was burning without him.

"Valentina was...Is my wife. She is my responsibility," Marco continued. "The same way Luca is responsible for Veronica’s actions is the same way I am responsible for hers. Ma, this is the mafia. I cannot stay."

"I know Massimo should have learned something by now." Her temper flashed then. "Age should have taught him something. The death of a son should have taught him something. But I will not let him kill you to preserve a reputation that has already cost this family enough. I can’t let you leave," she said, and beneath the steel in her voice, there was exhaustion. "Luca does not want you to leave."

"Luca needs me even if he doesn’t know it. I do not know how to stay here while Luca faces this," he said.

"You stay by trusting him." Carol reached for his hand. "You are not running. You are not cowering. You are doing the one thing that may stop this family from turning one tragedy into five."

He moved closer and held his mother in his arms. Carol folded into him immediately, her hands gripping the back of his shirt. "Fine," he whispered. "I won’t leave."

Carol’s breath shuddered against him. "Thank you. Thank you." She hugged him tight.

"What if Don comes here?" Marco asked.

"Then he has me to deal with."

Marco chuckled. "That doesn’t comfort me."

But he believed her. There were very few things in this world he trusted without question, and Carol had always been one of them. She had pulled him into this family before he had even understood what family could mean. She had looked at him as a boy and seen something worth keeping. A son.

That was why leaving her hurt. That was also why he had to.

"Did you sleep on the couch all night, Ma?" he asked.

Carol sighed, already knowing he was changing the subject. "We both knew you would want to leave."

"It’s bad for your back."

"I will be fine," Carol said.

"Come on. I’ll get you to bed. This is not good for you."

Carol narrowed her eyes. "You will stay with me."

"Why?" Marco raised a brow.

"So I will know you are there."

He chuckled again. "You are not even pretending to trust me."

"I trust you very much. I do not trust your self-sacrificing nonsense."

"I will stay with you. Come on." Marco kept his face steady.

lying to Carol felt like he was sawing at his arm. It sat wrong. He helped Carol up the stairs. She leaned on him more than she needed to. He wrapped an arm around her, matching her steps as they climbed.

They reached Carol’s bedroom.

"Get into bed," Marco said.

She touched his cheek briefly, her thumb brushing the side of his face with tenderness. "You are my son,"

Marco swallowed. "I know."

"Then think before you walk into that mess and offer your life like it is spare change." Carol sighed and finally got into bed. "Sit."

Marco sat beside her. For a few minutes, he let her believe it. He sat there like the good son she wanted him to be, even while the passport in his back pocket pressed against him like guilt.

Carol’s eyelids lowered, though she was still fighting sleep.