The mobster's secret son

"Look at me!" He spoke angrily. "You're a monster," I said softly, almost whispering, refusing me to obey. "Look at me!" He shouted, making me comply. "I rule this place, ragazza! You only speak or move in my presence if I allow it. I decide whether you live or die. I am the Don, ragazza," he said, pointing the gun at me again, this time at my head, the same place he had just shot. I struggled to breathe, my chest rising and falling, his words echoing in every part of my body. He stared intensely at me while cocking the pistol, ready to fire. "Don't hurt me, Stefano," I pleaded, my voice trembling and faltering. "Too late, Beatrice." His fingers moved; Stefano was about to pull the trigger when the image of Davide filled my mind, his laughter, the sleepless nights caring for him, and most importantly, the question of who would take care of him when I was no longer there. Stefano had no right, Stefano couldn't do this, and I would do anything to save my son, even if it meant handing him over to one of the leaders of the most powerful mafia in the country. It was time to tell the truth. "We had a child that night!"