Turning Point||Book 2

46: Xenia/Romano.

Xenia Butler

Max's words revealed everything. Whether he fabricated the story to silence me or spoke the truth to prevent the risk of my loose tongue, I realized I possessed valuable information about Romano's whereabouts at this hour. Caleb was involved, possibly to strategize on how to handle me in regards to the Black Hand that wanted me.

Additionally, I was aware that Romano remained in Sicily due to unresolved matters with his uncle and Angelo concerning his ascent to power. The fact that Romano's stay in Sicily wasn't tied to our affair, as Max had suggested, left me feeling both unsettled and comforted because once Romano settled matters with his cousin and uncle, he would leave—whether with me or without me. While the idea of the latter sounded safer, it was also inconceivable.

After tucking Jonny into bed, boredom seeped into my bones. With April unavailable to text and Romano's threats keeping me away from Vera Lenci and the others in BBP, I contemplated turning on the TV for some distraction. However, the thought of even that failed to excite me.

Alcohol was a no-no, as was satisfying any cravings for nicotine just for the thrill. Instead, I found myself drawn to the garden, the exact spot where Ponzio and Renata had been discreetly disposed of like unwanted trash by the men who didn't want them to resurface.

I stood there, the soil feeling damp, brown, and noticeably distinct.

Death usually changed everything.

Perhaps my recent flirtation with death a week ago had abruptly made me recognize the value of life. Or maybe it was the painful memories of my father or Joanna that resonated deeper within me. Regardless, I was intimately familiar with the feelings of grief and loss, from my parents to my uncle, to my sister, and now to Renata.

I hadn't known Renata well, if at all, though I found myself kneeling beside her undignified burial site, which Max had been instructed to repair with a lawn seeder.

She must have placed her trust in Romano to ensure her safe return home, but due to Ponzio's involvement, that assurance remained unfulfilled. Despite this, I failed to detect any hint of guilt or anger from Romano regarding her fate. It seemed her death didn't affect him.

In contrast, I found myself shedding tears. Each drop fell onto the sand below as I mourned, wishing I had never made her that promise. I wished the little boy wouldn't have to grow up without a mother and father, regardless of his father's flaws. As someone who was orphaned myself, I understood the profound grief it brought, and I vowed to spare the boy from such trauma if I could.

Where would he go now? Even his grandfather had been swiftly eliminated, like a rook pinning down a pawn. For now that Romano's plans were receded from view, it seemed plausible to consider caring for the boy as his mother would have. But what about when circumstances became clearer, when I understood my own position? What would happen to the boy then?

I had never been a mother; I didn't understand the complexities of that role. I couldn't commit to caring for the child indefinitely. Drawing from my own experience with distant relatives in the absence of parents, I couldn't suggest sending him off to find relatives either, if any could be tracked down. While he might be safer with me, I couldn't shake the feeling that I wasn't the best caregiver for him.

I promised to inquire about the boy's future from Romano upon his return, hoping it would help begin the healing process for me. But before anything else, fuck Ponzio for burdening the unfortunate woman with his troubles.

I struggled to hold back my tears and muster the courage to enter the house, Romano's men lurking around me as if I'd be too foolish to attempt testing death again.