Chapter 1 #11
"Wait until we put Antonio to sleep. Then we’ll talk, okay?" "Okay," I whisper immediately, nodding. "Okay. Yeah. Okay."
He keeps his hand on my back a second longer, then finally lets me go.
The air feels colder the second we're not touching, but it's different now. We walk back toward the bedroom together. Not touching, but side by side this time.
That alone is already an upgrade. Antonio is sprawled on the bed with his toy. When he sees us both come in, he smiles. Gio goes over to him, ruffles his hair, starts the little bedtime routine. Blanket, story, low voice, the whole thing.
I catch myself smiling. Because Gio said he'll talk to me. Because he hugged me. Because if he truly hated me, if he really wanted me gone, he wouldn't have done any of that.
I brush my fingers over Antonio's foot through the blanket. He wiggles his toes and giggles, then yawns so wide his eyes water.
He finally knocks out mid-sentence, halfway through a story that Gio was probably improvising on the spot. His little hand goes limp around the toy he's clutching. Gio watches him for a second, then carefully slides his arm out from under him.
"Come on, bean," he mutters softly, and gets up.
He picks Antonio up with that automatic dad-move he has now, one hand under his back, one under his legs, holding him close to his chest. I scoot a little so he can pass, and he carries him over to the same little crib we'd dragged next to the bed at Christmas.
The one we used so we wouldn't flatten him in our sleep. Gio lays him down gently, fixes his pajama sleeve, tucks the blanket around him just enough so he doesn't kick it off in two minutes. He brushes a thumb over his forehead and then comes back to the bed.
My heart starts beating faster as he climbs in next to me. I don't move at first, I'm not sure how close I'm allowed to get. I don't know the rules yet. Is there a new invisible line between us now? Am I supposed to stay on "my half"?
He answers that for me. He just reaches out, grabs me by the waist and pulls me right onto him. I end up half on his chest, and my arm goes around his waist automatically.
My whole body reacts, feeling exactly like I've been out in the cold for hours and someone just opened the door to a warm house. He slides his hand up my back, into my hair, and starts stroking slowly. That's the moment it really sinks in how badly I needed this.
Gio's fingers keep moving through my hair, and after a while his breathing evens out. For a second I think he's fallen asleep like this. Then I feel him inhale a little deeper.
"Rava," he murmurs, close to my ear.
"Mm?" I hum, not lifting my head from his chest. I can feel his heartbeat under my cheek, fast but not wild anymore.
"I'm sorry I said you're not... smart," he whispers. "I... I didn't mean that," he goes on. "I hope you know that. You are very smart."
I swallow, staring at his skin. "I know you didn’t mean it," I say softly. "I mean... it still sucked to hear. But I know."
He exhales, thumb brushing the back of my neck. "I was fucking terrified," he admits, voice almost embarrassed. "Walked into that house and... I don't know. It felt like someone took a piss on everything I ever tried to build. And my first instinct is always to bite. You know me."
"Yeah," I smile a little against his skin. "Unfortunately."
"I shouldn't have thrown it on you like that," he says. "Doesn't matter how scared I was. Saying shit like that to you... it's not... it's not fair."
I shake my head a little. "Gio—"
"No," he cuts me off gently. "Let me say it.
" His hand slides down to the middle of my back, splaying warm over my spine.
"You fucked up," he says, not sugarcoating it.
"You really fucking did. I'm not gonna pretend you didn't. You let two strangers in the house and they cleaned us out. That's insane."
"Thanks," I mumble into his chest, but there's no real bite in it. "But," he continues, pressing his chin lightly against my hair, "you're not stupid. You're not a bad dad. You don't deserve to feel like you're the villain in this."
My throat gets tight again. "I was so fucking scared," he says quietly.
"First thought when I saw the door? 'Where's my kid.
Where's Rava.' Not 'Where's my bike.' Not 'Where's my shit.
' Just you and him. And when I realized they were gone but you were safe, I got pissed because it hit me how close it was.
And my brain did the thing. 'If he wasn't so nice, this wouldn't have happened. '"
"That's... true, though," I whisper.
"Yeah, but saying it feels wrong," he mutters. "If you weren't so nice. Since when is that a crime?! You're the reason our son isn't an emotionally constipated menace like me."
I huff a tiny laugh.
"You let the wrong people in. It's true. But that doesn't make you broken or less of a human. And it doesn't cancel out every right thing you do every day."
"I still—"
"I know you're blaming yourself," he interrupts again, softer.
"I could see it on your face the second I opened that fucking door.
" It stings because he's right. "I'm not gonna leave you over this," he says, firm.
"I'm not gonna take Antonio away from you.
I'm not gonna pretend you barely exist. That's not happening.
So stop writing those stupid scenarios in your head.
I was cruel. I know, and I'm sorry. I was just shocked. "
I let out a shaky breath. "I know. I can't just... turn them off. The thoughts."
"I know." His fingers thread slowly through my hair again. "So I'm telling you. Over and over if I have to. I'm mad at the situation. I'm mad they touched our stuff. I'm mad they were that close to you and the kid. I'm mad they dared to walk into our house. I'm not mad at you the way you think."
I go quiet for a second.
"We're gonna look for them," he says then, calmer. "We're not just gonna sit and cry about it. They exist. They have faces, tattoos, names, habits. No one's that invisible. We'll find them."
"You really think so?" I ask, rubbing my cheek against his chest.
"Yeah," he says simply. "And I'm not saying it to make you feel better. I mean it. There's always a trail. We've got friends in all the wrong places. They fucked with the wrong family."
I nod slowly. "Okay."
We're quiet for a bit. "It still hurts about the house," I admit quietly. "I know it's just walls and furniture and... stuff. But it was ours, you know?"
He hums. "I get it," he says. "It was home for me too. I'm not made of stone. Walking around and seeing everything flipped like that... it pissed me off, yeah, but it also broke my heart."
Tears prick my eyes again. "I don't want to lose it."
"Be happy we even have the option to lose it, Rava," he says softly. "Most people would just stay there. Sleep in the same bed someone went through their drawers over. Pretend they're fine. We don't have to."
I blink, thrown off. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, yeah, I'm angry," he says. "Yeah, I miss my bike already. A lot. Yeah, it fucking sucks that we need to move. But we can. We have the money to go somewhere safer instead of lying awake every night wondering if those assholes are coming back. That's a privilege, whether we like it or not."
I hadn't thought about it like that. At all.
"I don't want you to see it like, 'We're getting kicked out of our life,'" he continues. "We get to upgrade."
I snort weakly. "Upgrade from crime scene to slightly less crime scene?"
He laughs softly, his chest shaking under my cheek. "Also," he adds, a little lighter, "the house had humidity. The walls were acting up. Maybe we needed an excuse to get a new place."
I actually laugh at that. "This is the excuse?" I say. "Armed robbery?"
"Go big or go home," he mutters. "Preferably a different home." I shake my head against him, still smiling, even as my eyes are wet. "I'm gonna miss it," I admit.
"Look, we're gonna find those guys. One way or another. We're gonna get what we can back or at least make sure they don't do it to someone else. And until then, we're gonna move somewhere that doesn't make you lock yourself in the bathroom shaking every time the doorbell rings. That's the plan."
I breathe out slowly. "And you?" I ask. "You're... okay with me? Not just... tolerating me until all this calms down?"
He goes quiet for a second. His hand cups the back of my neck and he pulls me just a bit closer.
"Rava," he says, like he's annoyed I'd even ask.
"If I didn't want you, you wouldn't be here.
I'm not that complicated. I get rid of what I don't want.
That has never been you. Even when you do dumb shit. Especially when you do dumb shit."
I huff another laugh.
"I'm still mad at the whole thing," he admits. "I'm not gonna lie. It's gonna take me a second to fully chill. But I don't regret you, or us. I don't regret this family. Not for a minute. So stop putting yourself outside of it."
My eyes sting again. "Okay," I whisper. "I'll... try." He kisses the top of my head. "And next time someone rings the bell and looks like a GTA character," he adds, "you don't open. I don't care if he's crying, holding flowers, or says he's Santa. You call me first."
"Deal," I mumble. "I might just never open the door again. Ever."
"Honestly, I'm fine with that," he says. "You don't need to open doors. That's my job. You just stay cute and stressed."
I laugh and snuggle closer. "Anyway," I mumble after a bit, tracing little circles on his stomach through his shirt, "I'm... kind of glad."
He hums. "Glad about what, exactly? That it happened?"
I snort. "No, obviously not. I mean... Glad that we're okay. That we got out of it like this. That I can lie here and be dramatic and apologize again and again, instead of... I don't know. Being in a hospital. Or planning funerals. Or..." My voice cracks a little, so I shut up and breathe.