Chapter 8 - THE MAFIA BOSS WHO DIDN'T LOOK AWAY
Jack came to see me the following afternoon.
We met in a quiet room at the hospital where Noah was being checked after the break-in.
My son was unharmed.
But he'd been frightened badly enough that he wouldn't let me leave his sight.
Jack entered carrying a small box.
Noah looked up.
“What's that?”
Jack glanced at me.
“May I?”
I nodded.
He handed the box to Noah.
Inside was a repair kit for toy robots.
Tiny screws.
Miniature gears.
Small tools.
Noah's eyes widened.
“Wow.”
Jack smiled.
“I heard you're good at fixing things.”
Noah nodded solemnly.
“Very good.”
Jack sat in the chair beside him.
“Then perhaps you can teach me.”
I watched them.
The most feared man in Chicago was sitting beside my six-year-old son, listening seriously to an explanation about plastic gears.
Something in my chest softened.
Later, when Noah fell asleep, Jack approached me.
“How are you?”
I shrugged.
“Tired.”
He nodded.
“Understandable.”
I looked down.
The hospital gown I'd changed into earlier had shifted, revealing part of the scar across my abdomen.
Instinctively, I pulled the fabric down.
Jack noticed.
But he didn't stare.
He looked away.
“I'm sorry,” he said.
I swallowed.
“It's ugly.”
The words escaped before I could stop them.
Jack looked at me.
“Who told you that?”
I laughed bitterly.
“Someone who saw it every day.”
He was quiet.
Then he said:
“May I tell you what I see?”
I hesitated.
Then nodded.
“I see a woman who brought her son into the world under difficult circumstances.”
My eyes filled.
“I see someone who has been hurt and still chooses kindness.”
He paused.
“And I see someone who stood in a room full of armed men and refused to let a stranger die.”
I stared at him.
Jack's voice softened.
“I don't see anything ugly.”
Tears slipped down my cheeks.
For years, Ethan had taught me to hide.
May you like
Jack Moretti had looked at the parts of me I feared most.
And he had refused to turn away.
