“GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF MY SON!” she screams at me, and I jump again at her sudden explosion, taking a small step back until my body hits the kitchen bench. Realization dawns on me that this is Leo’s mother, and my eyes widen as my heart rate increases. Looking at her, as she stands mere feet away from us, I notice she is swaying on her feet, her hair is oily and unkept, and her body is covered in bruises and scabs. It is clear she is not lucid. What she is under the influence of, I don’t know, but it is more than alcohol, of that much, I am sure.

“It’s oka—” I start to say, but she cuts me off as I bring one hand up, my palm facing her.

“It is not fucking okay!” she screams, and again, I jump, pulling Leo even closer to me as he starts to whimper into my side. My eyes flick to the front door, wondering where the hell Dante’s team are. They are all usually close by, but not today, it appears.

Looking back at her, I take in her full appearance. Tight black shiny shorts that hide nothing, and a black halter top, which stops short of covering her torso, and I can see her skinny frame underneath. There is nothing of her; I can see her rib bones.

“What do you want?” I ask her tentatively, trying to keep her talking to give me more time to think of a way out of this situation. Leo and I could run, barricade ourselves in one of the rooms, but we won't be fast enough to outrun them all. The two men have already positioned themselves on either side of her, clearly anticipating that option, so I immediately look around for other clues that may help us escape.

“I want my fucking son!” she screams again, and I know that she is not stable at all. Her words are slurred, her eyes are hazy, and there is absolutely no way that Leo is going anywhere near her. Whether she is his birth mother or not. I am not sure of their history, but I can't imagine Dante ever being married to someone like this. I look at Leo again, and he is hiding his face into my t-shirt. I increase my hold on him, silently telling him that he isn’t going anywhere.

Feelings of how my own mother treated me begin to filter through my mind, like a rolodex of memories that flash from her slurred words, her stingy hatred, her venom when she didn’t get what she wanted. The anxiousness that had left my body the moment I arrived here in New York floods through my system, my palms sweating, and if it wasn’t for this little boy gripping onto me so tightly, I would be totally losing it right now.