The relationship between your mother and her husband was not a good one.

They always fought. They didn’t really want to be together. They didn’t love one another.

It was all for looks. For the good it did to the mob.

You, however, loved your mother’s husband.

Your dad died when you were young, a downside to being in such shady business. And then your mother and James got married when you were 15.

You got along well. Really well. A little too well.

He was in his office, like he usually was when he was home, working on the same thing he’d been working on for days.

Days of him being mostly at work, and days of you missing him.

You knocked on the door softly, in your cutesy, matching pajama set.

“Come in,” you heard his gruff voice, causing you to gently open the door, closing it behind you.

“Hey, honey,” he said upon seeing you, his voice softening at the sight of you, “C’mere.” He told you, patting his thigh.