Page 4 of Ribbons and Roses

In his case, all that glittered wasn’t gold. While he came from a wealthy background and his father—or the man hethoughtwas his father—was Don of the Mancino crime family, behind closed doors, things were much darker.

The first Christmas we spent together as boyfriend and girlfriend made me realize just how much Salvatore detested the holiday. I was eighteen and he was twenty-one when I spent my holiday break from college in his apartment. He indulged me, letting me put up a small Christmas tree and exchanging gifts and celebrating the holiday, but it was not at all what he truly wanted.

In the many years since, I’ve often sought to change his perception.

Success has mostly alluded me.

I release a small sigh, bending over the stroller to tend to Dante. He’s just woken up from his afternoon nap and needs to go potty. “Do you think I should drop it?” I ask Sasha. “Has Stitches said Salvatore wishes I wouldn’t do these things? I wouldn’t be so… festive?”

Salvatore would never want to ruin the holiday for me; he wouldn’t have the heart to tell me if he hated that I was so big on celebrating Christmas.

He’d simply play along to make me happy. He’d do anything for me and the kids and has proven as much every day.

“Stitches didn’t say that,” Sasha says. “I think it’s more so just… that he wishes this time of year could be over. It might be a lot of pressure on him. Giving the kids the Christmas he never had.”

I consider Sasha’s words as we take our little brigade of small children and head to the bathrooms in Cliffords.

Dante is a little bit of a late bloomer as far as potty training goes. He’s still in a diaper. I change him into a fresh one while the other three go on their own.

“Everybody wash your hands,” Sasha reminds once Dominic, Serena, and Bryce emerge from their stalls in the ladies restroom.

“Mommy, I’m hungry!” Dante says.

“I know, baby. It’s almost time for a snack. When we get to the car, okay?”

Strapping him back into the stroller, we set off, deciding our Black Friday shopping excursion has come to an end. We’ll be dropping Sasha and Bryce off before driving home to Westoria. On the drive to Sasha’s neighborhood, I start thinking out loud.

“Maybe I should give him what he never had,” I mutter under my breath. “I could make this Christmas the best Christmas we’ve ever had.”

Sasha groans. “Delphine…”

“What?” I glance at her and then back at the road. “What’s the problem?”

“You have this habit sometimes where you try to… fix things. Champion causes.”

“Iama lawyer,” I point out. “IwasAssistant District Attorney for years. Ididalmost become District Attorney.”

“You’re proving my point. Helping people is your thing. But maybe Salvatore doesn’t want to drudge all that up, you know? Speaking as someone with a fucked up past, sometimes it’s best to just leave that shit alone.”

Sasha’s opinion stays with me for the rest of the drive home.

By the time we’re pulling into the driveway, the three littles in the backseat have dozed off. I smile as I prop open the rear doors and unbuckle their car seats. The staff have come out to help, hoisting up Serena and Dante into their arms to carry them inside and lay them to rest. I stick with Dominic, gently waking him from his car seat.

“Hey, chocolate drop,” I say softly, smiling at him. “Want to help Mommy hide the presents?”

His eyes, identical to Salvatore’s, widen in half-drowsy excitement. We head inside clutching the couple of shopping bags filled with presents.

As I’ve grown into motherhood, I’ve learned to cultivate a special relationship with each of our children. Since Dominic takes his role as big brother so seriously, he loves helping me if he believes it’s a task only a “big kid” gets to do. He enjoys the idea that he’s my and his sibling’s little protector, taking after his father in that regard.

Salvatore has already started priming him as his heir. His firstborn son that will someday follow in his footsteps.

We share in a small laugh as we hide the presents in the closet and I make him promise he won’t tell another soul.

“Not even Daddy?”

“Not even Daddy.”

“What about Rena?”