17. Adriana #2
"No what-ifs." I kiss the top of his head. "Lachlan is going to keep us safe. He's not going to let anything happen to us."
Matteo is quiet for a moment. "Is he really my dad?"
My chest squeezes, but I take a breath, staying calm. "Yes," I say softly. "He is."
"Why didn't you tell me before?"
"Because I couldn't." I pull back so I can see his face. "Uncle Gio wouldn't have let me. And I was afraid of what he would do if he found out."
"But you're not afraid anymore?"
"I'm still afraid," I admit. "But I'm trying not to be. And Lachlan—your father—he's going to help us. He's going to make sure we're okay."
Matteo nods slowly. "He seems nice," he says finally. "When he's not being scary."
I can't help but smile at that. "Yeah. He can be both."
"Do you love him?"
The question is so direct and innocent that it takes my breath away. "Yes," I say softly, because it's the truth. "I do."
"Did you always love him?"
"Yes." My throat is tight. "Even when I thought I'd never see him again. Even when it hurt too much to think about him. I always loved him."
Matteo considers this, and then he says, "Okay."
"Okay?"
"Okay." He looks up at me. "If you love him, then I guess it's okay." He pauses. "I thought Uncle Gio was telling the truth. But if he came with guns and scared us, then maybe not."
"He wasn't." I pull Matteo closer. "Lachlan isn't trying to hurt us.
He maybe didn't go about it the best way, but he is trying to help.
And Uncle Gio is lying." I lean back, cupping Matteo's chin in my hand.
"Whatever happens, remember that. He's not telling the truth.
And I love you, and your father does too. "
Matteo nods seriously. "Okay, Mama."
I lean down and press a kiss to the top of his head. "It's going to be okay," I whisper, hoping desperately that it's true. We sit like that for a few moments, and then Matteo pulls away.
"Can we have pancakes for breakfast again?" he asks, and just like that, he's a nine-year-old boy again, thinking about food instead of complicated adult emotions.
"I think we can arrange that." I stand up, holding out my hand. "Come on. Let's go see what we can find."
—
Lachlan is already in the kitchen when we get there, and I'm struck by how domestic the scene is.
He's standing at the stove, wearing jeans and a T-shirt that stretches across his broad shoulders, and he's making coffee.
He looks up when we come in, and the smile that crosses his face when he sees us makes my heart skip.
"Morning," he says, and his eyes linger on me for a moment before moving to Matteo. "How'd you sleep, buddy?"
Matteo shrugs, moving closer to me. "Okay."
"Just okay?" Lachlan's voice is gentle, and I can see him trying to figure out how to connect with his son. "Bad dreams?"
Matteo nods, and Lachlan's expression softens. "I get those too sometimes," he says. "They're not fun."
"You do?" Matteo sounds surprised.
"Yeah." Lachlan pours coffee into a mug and hands it to me, and the casual intimacy of the gesture makes my stomach flutter. "Everybody gets bad dreams sometimes. Even grown-ups."
"What do you do when you have them?"
"I remind myself that they're just dreams." Lachlan leans against the counter, and I can see him choosing his words carefully. "That they can't hurt me. And that when I wake up, I'm safe."
Matteo considers this, and then he nods slowly. "Okay."
"I know you like pancakes for breakfast," Lachlan says, changing the subject smoothly. "What do you say we make them together this time?"
Matteo looks at me, uncertain, and I nod encouragingly. "That sounds fun, doesn't it?"
"I guess," Matteo says, but I can see a flicker of interest in his eyes.
I watch as Lachlan pulls out ingredients, talking Matteo through each step, letting him crack the eggs and stir the batter.
It's awkward at first, both of them trying to figure out how to work together, but gradually they start to relax.
And Lachlan is heart-wrenchingly sweet as a father—patient and gentle, trying so hard to connect with a son he barely knows.
"You're doing great," Lachlan tells Matteo as he flips a pancake. "You're a natural."
Matteo beams, and the smile on his face makes my chest ache.
Maybe this can work. Maybe we really can be a family.
After breakfast, as we're washing up, Lachlan suggests we go out. "Out?" I repeat, surprised. "Into the city?"
"Yeah." He's loading the dishwasher, and he glances at me over his shoulder. "I want to show you Chicago. Both of you. I want you to see what it's like here."
"Is it safe?" The question comes automatically, the memory of the recent attack sending a chill through me.
"We'll bring men with us," Lachlan says. His voice lowers for Matteo's benefit, speaking only to me. "I don't think Gio will try again so soon. But there will be every safety precaution in place. Car and building sweeps, all of my best men on watch, all of that."
I try to think of reasons not to, but the lure of getting out of the penthouse is too strong to resist. I look at Matteo, who's watching us with wide eyes. "What do you think, baby? Want to go explore the city?"
"Can we?" He sounds excited now. "Really?"
"Really." Lachlan smiles at him. "Go get dressed. Wear something comfortable. We're going to do a lot of walking."
Matteo runs off to his room, and I turn to Lachlan. "Are you sure about this?"
"I'm sure." He moves closer, and his hand comes up to cup my face. "I want you to see what our life could be like here. I want you to see that this doesn't have to be a prison. That we can have something normal. Something good."
"Okay," I whisper. "Okay."
—
The city is overwhelming at first. We start at a café Lachlan knows in a neighborhood called Lincoln Park, with exposed brick walls and mismatched furniture and the smell of fresh-baked pastries and coffee filling the air.
Matteo gets a chocolate croissant and hot chocolate, and he sits at the table swinging his legs, looking around at everything with wide eyes.
He's going to be high on sugar all day, but right now I can't bring myself to say no to him about anything.
Lachlan orders us both lattes, and comes to sit next to me at a table with a view of the park. "This is nice," I say to Lachlan softly. "It feels normal."
"That's the point." He's sitting close to me, his hand resting on my thigh under the table. "I want you to see that we can have normal. That this doesn't have to be all violence and fear."
I want to believe him. God, I want to believe him so badly.
After the café, we walk. Lachlan takes us along the lakefront, and I'm struck by how beautiful it is. Lake Michigan stretches out to the horizon, gray-blue and vast, and the path along the water is filled with people—joggers and cyclists and families with strollers.
"It's so open," I say quietly. "I forgot what it was like to be outside like this."
Lachlan's hand finds mine, lacing our fingers together. "Soon, it will be safe, and you can come here whenever you want. You can go anywhere you want, Adriana. You're not a prisoner anymore. When Gio is gone, you can do anything you want to."
The words make my throat tight, because I want to believe them, but I'm not sure I know how.
Matteo runs ahead of us, chasing pigeons, and I watch him with a mixture of joy and fear.
He looks so happy, so free, and I realize this is what I wanted for him.
This is what I've always wanted—for him to have a childhood, to have experiences, to have a life outside the walls of the Santoro estate.