Chapter 41

Aldo

I leaned against the hood of the old Corvette, my gaze fixed on the soft line of trees around the lake as I tried to clear my mind. Lately, my usual distractions—guns, fighting, and cars—weren’t working.

My mind kept drifting back to …

The slight rasp of a throat clearing dragged me back from whatever cloud I’d been about to drift off to. I turned up the long rear driveway towards the guesthouse to find Eli Bennett staring at his shoes as he kicked an errant stone.

Eli Bennett—my son.

“Hey, Eli.” I tried to keep my voice light, friendly. Approachable. “Whatcha doing out here?”

“I um …” His gaze flickered briefly upwards before returning to the stone at his feet. “I have a question.”

The next time he glanced up, I waved him over. Hesitantly, he closed the distance between us to mimic my posture against the car.

My smile was genuine. “What’s up?”

“Can you help me with something?” He crossed his arms—truly mimicking my posture—and tilted his head up towards me.

I frowned, intrigued. “What kind of something?”

Eli turned out towards the expansive lawns that stretched out behind the estate in a cascade of rolling hills and manicured gardens. His blond brows furrowed tight.

“I … I wanted to do something nice for Mommy. She works so hard. But …” His voice dropped to a low whisper. “I wish she’d smile more.”

The words hit me in the gut, like a punch. The kid was way too perceptive for his age. Layla worked constantly—worked herself to the bone. For her son, for her family, for the people of this city.

With my increased staffing of the hospital, she’d had more time off, but she spent it home, with Eli. Playing with him, teaching him, eating with him. I’d never once seen her go out on her own for anything other than a grocery run.

“I wish that, too,” I admitted, my voice a low hum.

“There was this dress once,” Eli said, looking down at his shoes again. “In a window of a shop with a bunch of pretty dresses. She couldn’t stop looking at it, but she wouldn't buy it.”

“It was impractical,” I said, guessing Layla’s excuse.

Eli’s head whipped up towards me. “Yes. She said that. And expensive.”

“Of course.” I nodded, a faint smile curving my lip. “That sounds like her.”

“I promised I would buy it for her when I grew up,” Eli said. “But I think it’s gone now.”

I didn’t have the heart to agree with him. “Maybe. Or maybe not. But it’s not about the dress—it’s the gesture. Noticing something that someone needs or wants, then helping them get it. Showing them that you noticed.”

Eli pinched his lip between his teeth, brows still furrowed. “So I need to find something like the dress.”

“Exactly. Something to show her that you notice how busy she is, and that you’re trying to help her.” Frustration welled up under those words, but I didn’t let it show. Hadn’t I been doing just that? With the hospital, with dinner … but none of it mattered.

Eli’s brows shot sky-high. “I know! I could—wait. Um.”

“What?” I nudged at his shoe when his gaze dropped again, coaxing it back up to mine. “Tell me.”

“Well … You’d have to help me.”

“Now I really want to know more.”

A tentative smile stole across his mouth. “Really?”

“Yeah. Tell me!”

“There’s this school project.” He fidgeted, his fingers drumming the hood of the car. “It’s um, about cars … I was gonna ask Mommy, and she would help me with the research, but—”

A smile stole over my face. Just like that, I was grinning. “Say no more. Whatever it is, I’m in.”

---

The next day, Eli and I met at the garage. Layla was at work for the day, but I’d watched her grandmother shoo Eli out the side door of the guesthouse.

She’d waved at me with a smile.

I beckoned Eli over to the car. “You ready?”

He nodded, his little face fixed with determination, and somehow I just knew he’d be good at this. I knew he’d watch and listen with unwavering focus as I leaned over the engine.

Eli leaned over next to me, and when I pointed, he didn’t hesitate. He followed my every instruction with admirable precision. Tightened, loosened, detached, reaffixed—nothing fazed him.

And when I slid under the car, he was right beside me.

Like father like son, my head thought, and I didn’t push it aside. For once, all of me was here, was present. I was here, and it was exactly where I was meant to be.

Over the next few hours, we worked side by side, Eli and I. I guided, instructed, pointed, and Eli listened. I’d never had a more willing or responsive pupil.

When we finally emerged from the garage at the end of the day, sweat and grease covered both of us. The sun dipped low behind the trees, dulling the world to evening sepia.

“So, you have enough for your project?” I wiped sweat off my forehead with the back of my wrist, and beside me, Eli copied the motion. It left a line of grease across his forehead.

“Yeah!”

“Good.” I nudged his shoulder. “Then we don’t have to bug your mom.”

“Right.” Eli nodded, but the smile on his face faltered slightly, like an unwarranted thought had crossed his mind.

“Out with it,” I said, nudging him again. “I know that look.”

“Would you like to come to dinner?” Eli blurted. “With me and Mommy? We could tell her about the project …”

“Does your mom know about this?”

“No but …” His voice dropped to a murmur, but nothing about his words were uncertain. “I think she’d like it.”

“She’d pretend not to.”

“Well, yeah.” Eli grinned. “She’s a grump.”

I laughed in spite of myself. This kid. “She is. All right, then. You ready?”

Together, we strode from the garage up the driveway to the guesthouse. It felt so natural, so right, to walk beside him. But as we approached the house, my stomach knotted with nerves.

I lifted my hand to knock, but Eli barged right in. “Hi, Mommy!”

“Hi, Eli—oh!” Layla appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, an apron on and oven mitts on her hands. Behind her, the warm scent of cooking made my mouth water.

She froze, her eyes slowly skimming down my body.

She was just surprised, I told myself as her gaze swept from my jeans up to my fitted tank—both splotched with grease and oil. But still, that gaze burned like fire, like a brand against my skin.

I certainly didn’t look the Mafia king—and she’d certainly noticed.

“I invited Mr. Marcello for dinner,” Eli said, without the slightest hint of apology or question in his voice. “And he’s staying.”

Layla’s mouth tightened into a line, but her eyes followed Eli into the kitchen. And to my shock, she merely nodded. “Come in.”

The three of us spread around the large dining table. Layla didn’t speak as she set a lasagna in the center of the table, and when she sat, tension stiffened her shoulders.

Eli chattered away to fill the silence between us. He talked about school. His friends. His homework. His upcoming project.

And then, he told her about our afternoon at the garage. She listened, her eyes flickering between Eli and me, but her mouth stayed taught, her position tense.

She offered Eli a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. And by the time she turned it on me, it was barely a faded memory of joy’s imitation.

“It was my pleasure,” I said, utterly genuine. “He’s a good kid.”

She nodded, everything about her still drawn tight as a bowstring. But when she answered, her words were soft. “He’s a great kid. Thank you for helping him.”