Page 115 of Mafia And Maid

And I’m paralyzed with fear of fucking this up.

“Help,” I mouth to Alessio, who only shakes his head while miming a hug.

My heart races in my chest like a fucking racehorse. Slowly, I pat his back gently with a shaking hand before giving him a slight squeeze.

“Thank you,” Ethan exhales.

“Anytime, buddy. Anytime…” My feet are frozen in place, and I’m too shellshocked to do or say anything else.

Marco, seeing this, clears his throat as he steps up toward Ethan. “Now that you’re properly dressed, let’s get your helmet on,” he says gently.

Ethan tentatively lets Marco lead him to the bench, where my brother swiftly clicks his small helmet into place before flashing me a thumbs up.

I clear my throat, trying to dispel the tightness in my chest. “You good, Ethan?”

“Yeah,” he nods.

Alessio claps me on the shoulder. “You’re getting there, Millo,” he says quietly. “Just keep on with what you’re doing. He’s opening up to you as you win his trust.”

I give my brother a grateful nod, and then, I walk to stand beside Ethan who’s now fully prepared for his first swing.

***

A few hours later, I turn to the little boy. “Okay, Ethan, ready for something new?”

With a nod, he moves to the marked spot. His hand tightens around the plastic bat, which only hours ago trembled. We’ve spent nearly all afternoon practicing with him, hitting ball after ball. But now, it’s time for a few low and slow lobs to really step it up.

“Remember,” I start from where I’m crouched beside him, “eye on the ball, and swing when you’re ready.”

“What if I miss it?”

“Then, we’ll try again.”

“But…”

“But?”

“No one is gonna laugh?”

“No one is gonna laugh,” I promise him. “In fact, I bet you we’re all gonna cheer for you, regardless. And I’ll tell you a little secret.” I lean closer to him. “Uncle Alessio over there can’t swing for shi—um, salt. He’s got a lousy swing.” And Ethan’s soft giggle nearly has the same effect on me as his hug did.

I give Marco the signal and watch him slow pitch the plastic ball toward Ethan. His eyes squeeze shut as he swings. The crack of plastic on plastic splits the air, and Ethan’s brown eyes widen with surprise.

“I hit it?”

“You hit it.”

“I hit it!”

An eruption of cheers follows with a fewwhistles.

“Let’s try again.”

Repeatedly, Ethan hits ball after ball, the smile on his face growing with each cracking sound of the bat making contact. They only roll a few feet from where we’re positioned, but that’s not what matters. It’s the fact that he’s doing it.

Pride and something else moves through my body. Something I’m not sure I even know how to describe.

Affection.