Page 3 of Maddest Temptation

Mamma would be displeased with my lack of presentability, but then again, why did I care? People were bound to judge me whether I wore a gown or walked around with a watermelon as a hat.

As always, Mamma was late, but it gave me some time to order a doughnut in peace without being told I was going to grow fat. I devoured my pastry; it was the first thing I had eaten since yesterday’s Jasmine tea.

A family of four sat beside me, and normally, I wouldn’t have paid attention, but I was so bored that I studied them for a while. The father, a tall dark-skinned man, stood to order while the mother, a beautiful dark-skinned woman with gorgeous, braided hair, sat down with her toddler and a baby in her arms.

The little boy sat on the chair, looking awfully small for it, but incredibly cute. His red, kid’s glasses made his brown eyes look large and filled with amazement as he shared some story with his mother, who, in turn, paid him attention as if her life depended on it.

As the father came back, he kissed his wife and then the sleeping baby in her arms. He settled himself on the chair near his son, and the four of them enjoyed their afternoon.

A tidal wave of sadness threatened to pull me under at that moment. It was so strong and violent that I had to look away to keep myself from being drowned by it. I had always dreamed of this. Of having a family of my own.

I wanted a family that would love me unconditionally. I wanted the kind of love that consumed every cell in my body and made me a hostage. A love that could withstand the storms and the seasons. But that hadn’t been what God had in store for me. He had other plans, and although it was hard to accept and understand, I was trying my best to accept life as it was.

Eventually, my mother walked in through the door; she was dressed impeccably in a gray tweed skirt suit, heels, and jewelry adorning her ears, neck, and wrists. It always struck me hard when I looked at her, it was like looking at an older version of me. We had the same blonde hair, the same dark blue eyes, same full lips, although mine still bore the ability to smile. Same thick brown brows, although Mamma preferred her’s thin.

She took the seat beside mine and inspected me from head to toe as she always did. Judging. “You look terrible.”

“Hi, Mother,” I greeted impatiently, standing to kiss her cheek.

“What is that?” She looked at Reginald who had woken up and was inspecting Mamma as she did him. While he was a pure-hearted soul and wagged his tail in earnest happiness, Mamma raised a well-trimmed brow and inspected him as though he were an alien.

“My baby,” I answered, patting his head and offering Reggie a motherly smile.

“You got a dog.” Her disapproval was palpable.

“Am I not allowed?”

“You should’ve gotten yourself knocked up, then you would have real babies to take care of.”

“Pleasant as always.” I had thought Mamma would have changed, but she was still the same bitter person that she had always been. Stupid me for thinking the time we spent apart would have softened her heart.

I couldn’t blame her; if I had been married to Donato Manci, I would be bitter, too. My marriage to Paolo had almost left me so.

“It’s the truth.” Mamma sipped on her coffee I had ordered for her.

“If you say so, Mamma.” I shrugged. Arguing with Domenica Manci was as tiresome as unpacking all those boxes in my apartment.

“How’s Marco?” I asked.

It had been four years since I had seen my baby brother, and I missed him terribly. Donato hadn’t allowed him to see me. Marco had always been my favorite person. I was ten years older than him, but even as a child, he understood me better than anyone else.

“Working with your father. They’ve been very busy lately.”

“He’s just a kid,” I complained.

“He has responsibilities. Marco is a man now. He’s ready to swear the Omerta, even Cassio says so.”

I choked on my coffee, the liquid burning my throat. My brother a Made Man? Marco was just a boy. My little boy. The one I had raised. He’s thirteen. Too young.

“Jesus, Francesca, you look like you have seen a ghost.”

Mamma wasn’t wrong. I felt like I had seen one. An icy shiver raced down my back and pebbled my skin. It wasn’t the first time I had heard that damning name but hearing it from Mamma’s lips with all that familiarity, brought back memories of my past.

A past I was still desperately trying to forget. Four years wasn’t enough to erase what had happened. It had been four years since Cassio Moretti tore my heart from my chest and stepped all over it, breaking it into a million pieces.

I hated that name.

“How are you?” The nature of her question surprised me, mainly because it wasn’t like her to ask those things.