“My Baby Sister Needs Food,” the 7 Year Old Told the Mafia Boss — His Reply Stunned Everyone…

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Chapter 5

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"When did she go?"

Mia swallowed. "Friday."

Dante didn't flinch, but his fingers curled slightly against the countertop. Friday. This was Tuesday morning.

"Who was with you over the weekend?"

"Just me and Lily. Mama said she’d be back by Saturday morning. She left two cans of soup and half a box of cereal. But the gas got turned off last week, so I couldn't heat the soup. Lily drank the last of the can of formula on Sunday. I had some crackers, but Lily can't eat crackers. She only has two teeth."

She looked up at him, her eyes searching his face for any hint of accusation.

"I didn't steal anything, Mr. Dante. I looked in Mama’s purse before she left, but there was only a lighter and some receipts. I found the ninety-five cents under the couch cushions. I tried to buy milk at the corner bodega on Monday, but the man behind the counter told me a gallon was four dollars and seventy-five cents and told me to get out before he called the cops."

"The cops," Dante repeated softly.

"I didn't want them to take Lily," Mia said, a sudden, desperate tremor finally breaking through her stoic voice. "If the city takes her, they put you in the system. Our neighbor Mrs. Gable said if the state comes, they separate sisters because nobody wants to take an older kid and a baby together. They split you up. I promised Lily when she was born that I’d never let anyone take her."

Dante reached out, his hand covering hers on the cold quartz. Her hand was warm now, but impossibly fragile beneath his calloused palm.

"Nobody is taking Lily," Dante said. He looked her directly in the eyes, holding her gaze with the absolute, terrifying certainty that had governed his entire life. "And nobody is separating you. Do you understand me, Mia? Nobody on this earth."

She stared at him, her chest hitching once, twice—and then the dam that a seven-year-old child had built out of sheer, desperate necessity finally cracked.

She didn't sob like an ordinary child having a tantrum. She leaned her forehead against Dante’s forearm and wept with the quiet, shuddering exhaustion of a soldier whose war had finally ended.

Dante didn't pull away. He sat there on the stool, his hand resting on the crown of her head, feeling the ragged rhythm of her breath against his sleeve, while across the room, Dr. Rossi looked up from the sleeping baby and slowly crossed himself.

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