My Son Started Calling His Father "Uncle," and the Don Regretted Everything

When my son, Dante Lombardi, finished speaking, Riccardo and I both froze.

For 28 days now, I'd known that Elena and her son came first with Riccardo.

Every time he left Dante and me for Elena, I put my hands on our son's shoulders and taught him to call his father "Uncle."

I needed the reminder as much as Dante did.

We had to stop expecting anything from a man who wasn't really ours.

But Dante adored his father.

Before today, I'd always had to prompt him to call his father "Uncle."

He'd bite down hard on his lip.

His eyes would fill with tears. He'd struggle for a long time before whispering the word.

Today was completely different.

He said it on his own.

Clear and steady, without the slightest hesitation.

As if he'd practiced it in his head countless times, until it had replaced the word Father.

He saw us both standing there, frozen.

Dante tugged at my skirt and turned to Riccardo.

"Uncle, your phone's still ringing. Don't let us keep you from your important business."

Then he tipped his little face up to me.

"Mother, let's go in. The elders are waiting for us to light the sacred flame."

He gripped my hand with all his little strength and pulled me up the cathedral steps.

Riccardo had arranged the investiture, a symbol of the family's highest authority, to make up for missing Dante's family trials.

Dante had spent three extra hours a day practicing his shooting for this. He'd looked forward to the ceremony for two whole weeks.

I let my son lead me, my chest aching.

I'd discovered Riccardo's betrayal by accident a month earlier.

He'd spent the weekend with Elena's son. When he took off his jacket, a pass to the underground fight arena fell out.

Three seats together. The family section.

On Dante's fifth birthday, his biggest wish had been for all three of us to go see a fight at the underground arena.

Riccardo had frowned and shut him down.

"A bloody place like that is no place for a kid. Don't be ridiculous."

Only a week went by.

Then he took Elena's son to the arena.

I saw a post Elena had shared on a private dark web feed.

The caption read, "A brave little man deserves to learn from the most powerful Don himself."

Below it was a cozy photo of Riccardo holding Luca in one arm, with Elena tucked against his side.

Elena was the previous Don's widow and Riccardo's first love.

Late that night, I threw the tablet down in front of Riccardo and demanded an end to our marriage contract.

Riccardo thought I was overreacting.

"Silvia, are you insane? You want Dante to lose the Don's protection?

"I only help Elena because I owe it to her. She and her son have no one else. I'm just looking out for them!"

Through the crack in the door, I could see Dante shaking with fear. I bit my lip so hard it nearly bled.

I knew that if I took Dante away then, he'd never stop longing for his father.

But if I gave in even once, Riccardo would keep putting Elena and Luca first, no matter what. Dante and I would become the family's laughingstock.

So I tried something else. I tricked Riccardo into signing the papers authorizing the dissolution of our marriage contract.

That started a 30-day countdown.

If Riccardo broke things off with them within those 30 days, I'd destroy the papers for Dante's sake.

If he didn't, I'd use those 30 days to wean Dante off his so-called father for good.

Today was day 29.

On his own, Dante had cut the last thread tying him to his father. He'd called him "Uncle."

I held Dante's cold little hand. I felt no satisfaction, only a grief I couldn't put into words.

Just as we reached the cathedral doors, Riccardo finally snapped out of it.

He hurried a few steps after us, reaching for Dante's shoulder.

The ringtone he'd set for Elena went off again.

"Riccardo, where are you? Luca's burning up and having convulsions. He keeps asking for his Papa. I can't hold him still." Riccardo's outstretched hand froze in midair.

He watched us walk on without looking back, then answered the call quietly.

"Don't panic. I'm on my way."

As soon as he hung up, he took out his comm and sent me a voice message.

"We'll talk when I get home tonight."

Then I heard his dress shoes retreating across the flagstones.

Dante stopped at the wooden door and buried his face in my arms, his shoulders shaking.

"Mother, can we go live somewhere Uncle isn't?"