His Kryptonite

Chapter 30

From a distance, I spot Mamma standing at the entrance, her expression one of disbelief. My heart instantly melts at the sight of her, and despite my lack of understanding, as soon as Michael parks the car, I rush into her arms, tears streaming down my face.

"Figlia mia, cara mia, tesora mia!" she cries, holding me tightly.

Michael strides up the stairs and asks, "Francisco's inside?"

"He's in his office," Mamma replies.

Michael enters the house, and panic grips me. "Mamma, what's going on?" I inquire, but her expression mirrors my own bewilderment.

"I don't know! We weren't expecting you! But how are you? You look slimmer, amore. Have you been eating well? Is this man treating you right? Tell me quickly, I'm your mamma."

Despite my attempts to reassure my mother and convince her that I'm alright, my mind keeps wandering back to the unsettling thought of Michael and Papà alone together in a confined room. My heart races at the mere idea, especially considering the last time they were in that situation, Michael pulled a gun on my father.

"Mamma, I have to go see what's happening," I assert, making my way towards the entrance. But she firmly grasps my hand, refusing to let go.

"No, no! Do not interfere in the men's business. Let them talk man to man," she pleads with urgency.

"Michael pulled a gun on Papà last time, mamma. I can't let him do that again," I assert, releasing my hand from hers and sprinting inside the house.

With my heart pounding in my chest, I ascend the stairs and stride towards Papà's office. The door stands closed, and I can hear muffled voices seeping out from within. Getting closer, I press my ear against the door, straining to catch any snippets of their conversation.

"I did not raise her like this! I refuse for her to marry a man like you, so you can ruin her life. She has no idea what she's getting herself into, but you and I both know. She's too innocent, she's not cut out for this life," I hear Papà's stern voice reverberate through the closed door.

"Laila's not as innocent as you think, it's time you fucking realize that, Francisco. She loves me whether you like it or not," Michael's voice echoes in response. Surprisingly, there is no animosity in his tone, as if he genuinely seeks to reason with my father.

"I had other plans for her," Papà retorts.

"Maybe that's not what you wanted for her, but that's what she wants, and chances are, she wouldn't have been satisfied with any tool you tried to hook her up with. Turns out, the Cosa Nostra's blood runs deep in her veins, and if you hate her for that, then you should hate yourself too."

Silence falls, and I strain my ears, unable to hear a word. My heart races, thumping loudly in my chest, and my hands grow damp with sweat.

"I refuse to be worried sick about her well-being every day. You're going to hurt her, and I won't stand by, watching her suffer," Papà's voice cuts through the silence.

"I've killed for your daughter, and I'll kill again for her. Are you fucking blind?! Can't you see I care for her? If someone wants to hurt Laila, it will be over my dead body. But here's my fucking problem now. The person hurting her is you. If she's unhappy, it's because of you and you alone. So, if you genuinely care about your daughter's well-being, you'll put your fucking ego and insecurities aside and mend things with her!" Michael's tone grows increasingly menacing as he makes his point known.

That's more than I can handle. Feeling overwhelmed by all the back and forth, I decide to find solace in the library, hoping to find some peace amidst the chaos. I nervously pace around, biting my nails and going back and forth between standing and sitting, unable to relax. And then, finally, I hear the door of Papà's office swing open. Without wasting a moment, I swiftly leave the library and make a beeline for the office.

Michael steps out of the office, his gaze locking onto mine. The beads of sweat on his forehead give away the intensity of the conversation that must have taken place in there.

"I'll be waiting for you in the car, yeah?" he says, and for the first time, it feels like he's asking rather than ordering. His expression reveals his hope that I'll willingly choose to go back home with him this time.

I nod, confirming my decision. Regardless of what my father says, I'm leaving with this man. I love him.

Michael disappears downstairs, and I take a deep breath before stepping into my father's office. He's seated behind his desk, wearing a troubled expression. I settle into the chair opposite him, desperately trying to find the right words to convince him to continue being a part of my life, despite my decision to marry Michael.

But as I see him avoiding eye contact, refusing to look at me as if I'm some kind of disgrace he can't bear to face, confusion overwhelms me. When did his feelings towards me change so drastically?

My voice trembles, and I can't help but ask, "Papà, don't you love me anymore?"

He lets out a deep sigh. "Principessa, how could I not love you? Are you out of your mind?"

Tears well up in my eyes, and I burst into tears. Papà rises from his chair, and I follow suit as he embraces me. I don't know how long we stayed there, but it felt comforting because when we finally let go, I know deep down that he's still my father, my papà.

We have a heartfelt conversation, and even though Papà tries to convince me that I don't fully understand the challenges ahead and that I'm too innocent and fragile, I stand my ground about moving forward with the wedding. In the end, he accepts my decision and promises to be there for me. I couldn't have asked for a better outcome.

Hugs are exchanged without end before I leave, and Mamma insists on feeding me because she thinks I've lost weight.

As I step out of the mansion, I spot Michael leaning against the car, smoking a cigarette. When he sees me, a subtle expression of relief crosses his face, making me grin. I skip down the stairs, practically frolicking towards him.

I stop right in front of him, and despite his best efforts to appear unaffected, I can tell he's trying to hold back a smile.

"So, I guess I love you, huh?" I say, referring to him speaking on my behalf to my papà earlier.

He remains silent, squinting against the bright sun while taking another drag of his cigarette.

I shake my head and smile, saying, "You're right. I love you, Michael Rizzuto."

I don't expect him to say it back, because he's Michael. So, I lean in, wrap my arms around his neck, and kiss him. "Thank you," I whisper.

When we get home, we make love and I discover something new. I already knew Michael liked when I begged him, but now I also know that he very much like when I tell him that I love him, because he made me say it several times before delivering me from my misery and sending me to paradise.