The Mafia Boss

Ch. 3: I want to make you suffer.

Maeve and I head down for breakfast early. She's still wearing yesterday's clothes, having no other alternative. The items Olivia brought only accommodate me, and I'm grateful for the knitted jumper and mom jeans. Winter is fast approaching and although my room is equipped with a fire, I woke up this morning feeling cold.

We pass by a few doors on our way to the kitchen, and I manage to peek inside one that's been left slightly open. The space is similar to the bedroom Maeve and I have been assigned, only there's no bed. It reminds me of a therapist's office, relaxing and homely. The walls are covered with framed posters of inspirational quotes, each one adding a splash of colour to the—otherwise—beige room. My father had nothing like this in his estate growing up. Back then, I suppose mental health wasn't taken as seriously. I can only hope this insight into Torin's home means he hasn't completely lost touch with his compassionate side.

"What is that, Mama?" asks Maeve, curious as ever.

"It's where people go to get better," I explain.

"Like the doctors?"

I nod.

"Kind of. This is where people go to make their mind better."

I always strive for open and honest communication with Maeve. She may only be four years old, but she's had to learn things a lot quicker than other kids her age. My parents were never honest with me, and I ended up finding out things on my own. I don't want that for my own child. I want her to know she can come to me for anything.

"Does Daddy go there?" she asks.

"Maybe?" I reply.

She grins. "He's grumpy."

I take hold of her hand and give it a little squeeze, certainly not disagreeing.

"Are you hungry?" I ask,

She nods.

We follow the sound of clattering pans and find Olivia slaving by the stove in the kitchen, poaching eggs. Her daughter—I assume—is happily chomping on strawberries in her highchair, though seems to be playing with them as opposed to eating them.

"I think it might be bath time after breakfast," I remark, gesturing towards her strawberry smeared clothes.

Olivia looks mortified. "Katalina! No, honey!"

I grab a cloth and quickly get to work.

"You must think I'm a terrible mother," she whispers.

I'm half tempted to slap her cheek with my washcloth. "I think you're a wonderful mother! Maeve ate Oreos for breakfast at Katalina's age."

She laughs.

"Kids make a mess. It's what they do best," I assure.

She turns down the heat, deeming her egg yolks the perfect consistency.

"Would you like some breakfast?" she asks.

"I thought you didn't work here," I accuse, looking towards her poached eggs. "They don't expect you to cook breakfast every morning, do they?"

"They certainly do not."

I smirk, recognising that voice.

"Reaper!" I spring from my chair, launching myself halfway across the room to hug him. "Fuck! It's good to see you!"

"Mama, what's a fuck?"

Oh, shit!

Reaper smirks, crouching down to her level. "You must be Maeve."