So it’s been almost six months since Roxie passed, asking me to take care of her son Marcus on her deathbed.

Marcus had become angrier because he believes his father was betrayed and killed under false accusations. His Uncle Vinny told him his father wasn't a traitor, but was loyal to the organization. Someone falsely accused him of planning to go rogue. The people who ordered his death believed the accusation, or were deliberately manipulated into believing it. Vinny told him his father died protecting his loyalty and reputation, rather than betraying anyone. 

The most painful part for me is that Marcus is already angry about his father's death. He's beginning to romanticize the Mafia life, especially with Uncle Vinny feeding him money and bad advice. I know the truth: the life Marcus is starting to admire is the same life that took his father from him. 

But Marcus was different. He wasn't a target. He wasn't an assignment. He was Roxie’s son.

And that was precisely why the thought in the back of my mind frightened me.

Bring him in.

I tried to push it away. 

Marcus was only a boy. An angry, confused boy who had lost his father and then lost his mother. He didn't need the Mafia. He needed someone to show him that there's a life beyond revenge, violence, and the rules of the streets.

Yet every time Marcus challenged me,  questioned my authority, every time that stubborn look crossed his face, I saw something I couldn't ignore. 

Potential. He wasn't afraid. He noticed things.

He remembered conversations adults thought he wasn't listening to.

And lately, his questions weren't questions of a child anymore.

They were questions about loyalty. About power.

About who could be trusted.

About why his father's death had happened.

I knew exactly where those questions could lead.

I had walked that road myself.

One night, after Marcus had finally gone to bed, I sat on the patio with a drink I had barely touched.

I stared at the glass and whispered to myself.

He's becoming like them.

Then came the thought again.

Bring him in.

I closed my eyes.

No.

But the answer didn't feel convincing anymore.

Maybe bringing Marcus into the organization wasn't about turning him into a criminal.

Maybe it was about protecting him.

If I didn't teach him the rules of that world, someone else would.

Someone without my patience.

Someone without Roxie's memory in their heart.

Someone who would see Marcus's anger as an opportunity rather than a warning.

I knew what happened to young men who entered that life without guidance.

They became reckless. They trusted the wrong people.

They confused revenge with loyalty. And eventually, the life owned them.

I didn't want that for Marcus.

But I also couldn't ignore what I was beginning to understand.

Marcus had already been introduced to that world through his father, his Uncle Vinny, through the stories he'd heard, and through the anger he carried every day.

Perhaps the question wasn't whether Marcus would eventually enter that world.

Perhaps the question was who would teach him how to survive it.

I leaned back in my chair.

For the first time, I allowed myself to consider the possibility.