The Rocchetti Queen - Bree Porter Page 0,25

off, tooth and nail. Why didn’t you?”

“And risk my wife and son?” Alessandro replied. “Not a chance in hell.”

I felt slightly more human than I had in three weeks.

After being a slave to Dante and his needs, it felt nice to have a long soak in the bath, have my hair and face done, and wear a beautiful dress.

The dress was silky and dark gold, wrapping around me at my waist and breasts. Patterns of flowers fell down the sides, from my hips to my knees. The best thing about the dress was how easy it was to pull my boob out for Dante.

The day of Dante’s baptism was highly anticipated. Born on the same day that Don Piero had died, many had concluded (despite the mismatch in times) that Dante was Don Piero come again and would continue on his legacy.

This, of course, meant that my son was under a lot of scrutiny from the Outfit, so the least I could do was make sure he looked his best.

Dante was required to wear all white, so we tucked him into a baptism gown. All the other Rocchettis had worn this at their baptism, created by Don Piero’s mother to baptize her two sons, and now my son would wear it.

Alessandro held his son up in front of the church, grinning as Dante kicked his little legs at the fabric. My husband was dressed in one of his best suits, and even though he had gotten dressed an hour ago, his tie was already loosened and his hair was mussed.

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t find it in myself to be angry at him. My son was being baptized today—nothing could ruin my mood.

The church had been simply decorated for the baptism, nothing as extravagant as a wedding or funeral, but still an important occasion. White flowers covered most available surfaces, as well as small prayers for children and their times.

The three of us waited by the alter, entertaining conversations with guests and the priest.

When my baby begun to fuss, I took Dante from Alessandro and rocked him in my arms.

“Are you excited to be baptized, my love?” I cooed.

Dante barely passed me a glance. He kicked his legs up, yanking up his gown, and I pulled it back down.

“No?”

Alessandro huffed a laugh. “Look at his little face. He does not want to do this.”

Dante did not look like this was where he wanted to be.

“The last time Mama was here,” I whispered to him, “I was praying for you. Well, for safety. But I got you—so I know God listened to my prayers.”

Dante reached out to grab me. I tapped at his closed fist.

Familiar faces began to fill up the pews. Toto the Terrible looked surprisingly dashing in his suit, with a beautiful Aisling on his arm. Enrico followed, notably alone, as did all the other Rocchettis. The last Rocchetti to arrive was Salvatore Jr, who slid in beside his family without a glance toward us.

The priest gestured toward Alessandro and I, and we took our places in front of everybody. The church quieted immediately.

“We are here today to baptize Dante Antonio Rocchetti in front of God,” the priest called out to the church.

We followed the priest as he led us through the prayers for Dante. We renounced Satan, and asked God to watch over our child. When the time came for him to be blessed with oils, Alessandro held out his son and watched as the priest made a cross on his little forehead.

Choosing godparents had proven to be very difficult, but eventually we settled on Beatrice and Pietro Tarantino. Alessandro hadn’t wanted anyone in his family to take care of Dante if we passed, and Beatrice was close enough in family that it wouldn’t cause gossip to choose her.

Pietro and Beatrice stood proudly in front of us, renouncing Satan and confessing their faith. Beatrice’s swollen stomach stuck out, but she’d held herself well, not falling victim to pregnancy symptoms like the rest of us did.

When the priest took Dante from Alessandro, my heart clenched. Besides Dita and Alessandro, Dante was only held by me. I don’t know why such possessiveness rose up in me so suddenly, but it was Alessandro’s comforting hand on my back that stopped me from making a scene.

Dante was held over the blessed water, and the priest poured it over his head three times.

My son let out a cry as the cold water hit him, and by the time the priest was done,