ARELLA (A Mafia Story)

Eightteen

Damon

Two tiny hands gripping my cheeks is what wakes me. Shooting up from my reclined position on the couch, I spot Arella sitting on my lap. She widens her blue eyes, wobbling to the side from my sudden movement.

With quick reflexes, I grab her around the waist before she can topple over onto the floor. The baby looks shocked momentarily before wiggling her way up my body until her face is right in front of mine.

She rubs her nose against my own, putting her hand on my cheek. I swear my stone cold heart shatters in that very moment. After all the sins I've committed I certainly don't deserve sweetness from the tiny toddler in front of me.

Yet, she loves me, a big scary bastard, without fear.

"How did you get up on the couch, little lady? Where's Mama?" I question, tilting my head lightly into her tiny hand that's still firmly pressed against my cheek.

Arella points towards the kitchen area. It's then that I finally smell the telltale signs of dinner. After the boys' wrestling match earlier, we all came down for some lunch.

We decided to sit around and watch some television. It was a much needed break from the stressors of trying to find Dimitri. I guess I must've fallen asleep during the cartoons that Arella made us watch.

"How about we go get cleaned up before dinner?" I offer, reaching up to tickle the baby's belly.

She giggles, wrapping her arms around my neck as I stand, walking to one of the downstairs bathrooms. Setting Arella on the porcelain sink, I turn on the water and put a squirt of soap on her hands.

Cupping my hands in hers, I show her how to wash her hands. It'll be a while until she can do it herself. That doesn't mean that I can't start the lessons now.

"Wash wash wash our hands. With them till' they're clean-" I sing to the tune of row row row your boat.

Arella squeals and giggles, her little nub moving up and down with enjoyment. Shutting off the water once the song is finished, I grab the hand towel and dry our hands.

"You smell that," I question, making Arella flare her nostrils as she breathes deeply, "That's the smell of yummy dinner. It smells like Mama's homemade spaghetti. She makes the best pasta you'll ever have. I think it's because she's Italian."

As I talk, I carry Arella into the dining room. Andrea and Gianni are helping Freya in the kitchen, while Davide and Alessandro sit side by side at the table. My youngest son is browsing his tablet, Davide wholly focused on his phone.

Snapping my fingers, I order the boys to get into the kitchen and help their Mama. I've raised my sons better than to sit on their asses while the woman who gave birth to them slaves away making their dinner.

Alessandro shuts off his tablet and stands, catching sight of Arella in my arms. Davide heads straight into the kitchen.

"What's up, son?" I inquire.

It seems he's struggling with something. His foot starts to tap on the floor before he snaps out of whatever thoughts are going through his head, seeming to come to a decision.

He cautiously steps up to me, reaching into his back pocket to retrieve a pair of gloves. Snapping them onto his hands, he slowly extends his arms out to Arella.