Page 66 of The Godfather’s Christmas Twins

Maria has called Marcus inside. He waits like a soldier at the ready for my orders. “Will you join us?”

He glances at Maria as if he’s not sure how to respond. “I’m on duty?—”

“You have to eat. You can do us a service by carving the turkey. We have plenty of food. Enough for all of you.”

“We can’t leave our posts?—”

“Perhaps your men can join us in shifts,” Maria offers. I’m so pleased she’s getting in the spirit, letting me do this for the people who’ve been so good to me and the kids while we’ve been here.

“I suppose that will be okay.”

Maria sets an extra place for herself and the guards. "Such a shame Mr. Giraldi couldn't make it. He was so excited abouttoday, wanting it to be special for you all. I don’t know that he’s ever had Thanksgiving here."

“Is Uncle Max back yet?” Daniella asks as she returns from washing her hands.

"He's working, sweetheart."

“Aww… He’s not coming?” Dario’s expression falters as he sits next to Daniella at the table.

“Sometimes, his job takes him away. But look at this amazing food we have. And Maria and Marcus and others will join us.”

“They don’t have name tags,” Daniella says.

“I can fix that.” Dario jumps up from his seat and rushes out of the room. I can’t imagine what he’s doing. He returns with a crayon. “We can put their names on the tags.”

I smile at him. “Good idea.”

"The turkey looks amazing," Marcus says as he picks up the knife to carve the turkey.

Daniella bounces in her chair. "I helped make the cranberry sauce! And the rolls!"

"They're the best rolls I've ever tasted." Maria winks at her, and Daniella beams with pride.

The conversation flows easier after that. Marcus tells stories about his grandmother's infamous burnt turkeys, making the kids giggle. Maria shares tales of her sons' childhood Thanksgivings. When Marcus leaves us, another guard arrives, Joey, who tells jokes that have everyone laughing.

My children's faces light up as they pass dishes around the table, their earlier disappointment fading in the warmth of our makeshift family dinner. It's not what I imagined for today, but there's joy here, nonetheless.

By the time each staff person has had a chance to join us, we’ve been at the table for hours, but it didn’t feel like that. Max has good people working for him. Good people who understoodhow important this meal was to my kids and did their best to give them a wonderful day.

The kids help clear the table. Maria insists on handling the dishes despite my protests, shooing us toward the living room.

"Can we watch a Christmas movie?" Daniella asks.

"That's a perfect idea.” I invite the others to join us, but they all decline. So it’s just the kids and me in the theater room. Dario curls up next to me while Daniella debates betweenThe PolarExpressandThe Grinch Who Stole Christmas.

They decide onThe Polar Expressas Dario has a newfound obsession with trains. The familiar opening scenes fill the screen, and I pull my children closer. This isn't how we usually start the holiday season. Back home, we’d be in our place with Nic joining us. Or this year, we’d have been at his place, our family now bigger with Bella and the triplets. But there's something intimate and precious about this moment, just me and my babies snuggled together.

Daniella recites her favorite lines along with the movie while Dario fights sleep, his head growing heavier against my shoulder. Soon, Daniella joins him in sleep. I gently nudge them awake and guide them to their room.

I help them get their jammies on and teeth brushed. Then I tuck them into bed.

Dario's face pinches with worry. "Is Max mad at us? Is that why he didn't come home?"

My heart clenches. "No, baby. Max isn't mad at all. He just had important work to do."

“Why is he making us go?” Daniella’s lower lip trembles. "Because he doesn't want us here anymore?"

Anger flares in my chest. Not at my sweet boy, but at Max. How dare he make my children doubt themselves, doubt their place in his life? After all the breakfasts together, the playgroundbuilding, the movie nights, to just disappear on Thanksgiving without even stopping by to see them.