ARELLA (A Mafia Story)

Twenty-One

Freya

I feel like I've been sitting here for days instead of hours. The white walls of this hospital feel like they're caving in on me. There's been no update on Damon, the love of my life.

If he dies today, all of me will die with him. There's no way I could go on without him. We were made to live this life together. Without him, I'm nothing. I refuse to be a mafia widow.

No, he has to pull through. There is no other option. He has too many people depending on him. I depend on him. His breaths are my own. If I could take every single breath from my body and put it into his right now, I would do it in a heartbeat.

Arella fidgets on my lap, her eyes turning left to right. She whines, turning around on my lap and babbling to me in baby sign language. If I wasn't so numb, I would be shocked.

I've been trying to teach her a little bit of sign, but she hasn't used it so far. This is the first time she's tried communicating using my teachings.

Grunting with frustration, Arella taps her thumb to her forehead with her other four fingers pointed up. Sign language for Daddy.

Putting my hand over my mouth to contain my cries, I just shake my head. She's looking for Damon. Arella doesn't understand why we're here. My poor baby just wants her Daddy.

Gianni, who's sitting on my right, reaches over and pulls Arella from my lap. He snuggles her close to his chest, whispering in a low tone, "Daddy has an owie. That's why we're here. The doctors are going to make him better. Yes?"

Arella looks up to Gianni and whimpers, gripping onto his shirt for dear life. Little tears fill her blue eyes and she sniffles.

Seeing my little girl cry over her father is my undoing. Bringing my knees up to my chest, I wrap my arms around them and put my forehead on my knees. That's when the tears come.

Huge, gut wrenching sobs shake my body. I tried to be strong for my children, honestly I did. But nobody is here to hold me and tell me it's going to be okay. Nobody is here to be strong for me.

Davide reaches over, pulling my face into his shoulder. He doesn't try to placate me or stop my tears. He just holds me while I fall apart. Leaning slightly to the side, he reaches into his back pocket, retrieving a travel sized pack of tissues.

Pulling a couple out, he wordlessly hands them to me. I wipe my eyes and nose, balling the tissue up after I'm done. Davide just holds his hand out, taking the slightly damp tissues from me and stuffing it into his pocket.

Three tiny taps on my arm catches my attention. Straightening off Davide, I turn my head to the side to see Arella. She's leaning out of Gianni's arms, hers wide open in a sign to be picked up.

I pick her tiny body up, cuddling her close. Arella pushes my arms away, wiggling up my body until her face is right next to mine. She cups both my cheeks, then rubs her nose against mine.

Her way of comforting me.

I almost feel shame at having my children comforting me when I should be comforting them. I should be the one giving them tissues and wiping their noses. That's not to say that I'm not grateful.

If my kids weren't here right now, I'm pretty sure I would just be a screaming crying mess. The doctors would have to restrain me.