Chapter 4 #2
“I’m an orphan,” I lie, quickly burying the truth as effectively as I can. “I grew up at the orphanage where you found us. Jay took me in when I was just a child; I don’t remember my parents.”
“Really? That must be a — unique — way to grow up.” I don’t miss the way that Omero glances at the man beside him before continuing his questioning. “Does Jay make a habit of finding children? Didn’t you say that you found Emmanuel as well?”
I look down at the child asleep in my arms, thinking back on the night that he’d shown up in the cold darkness. All eyes are on me as they wait for my answer. It isn’t Omero’s eyes flickering back and forth between the road and mine that burn into me, though. It is Basili’s beside me.
“He was just there. I don’t know where he came from or who left him there,” I tell them.
“One of the other children found him. I was doing my nightly bed checks and realized she was out of bed; when I went looking for her, she had already found him and took me outside to where he was hiding. He was cold and wouldn’t speak to either of us.
It was by chance that I discovered that he knew how to sign.
The only thing he’s said since I found him was ‘The monster is coming for me’. That's it.”
Basili watches us quietly, his jaw tight, observing the way Emmanuel clings to me. I’d already told him what he’d said that night, but I didn’t tell him about the strange text message. I still didn’t know who sent it.
“He hasn’t been sleeping well, has he?” Omero asks gently.
“No. He has nightmares. I’ve been coaxing him to sleep each night, but he still wakes up panicked and afraid. If I wasn’t there when he woke, he’d find somewhere to hide and stay there until I found him. Closets, cupboards, you name it.”
“He used to sleep like the dead.” Basili’s brows are scrunched in pain, maybe or guilt. “Before all this, nothing could wake him once he was out.”
Before he was kidnapped. The unspoken depths of that statement bounce around the car for a while. It’s just one of the many indications of the trauma Emmanuel has experienced. Traumas that none of us are fully aware of, but that I am determined to discover.
“Thank you.” Beside me, Basili’s voice is low but clear, and I glance at him once more. “Thank you for keeping him safe, for taking care of him.”
“I did what anyone in my position would have done.”
“No.” It is clipped, abrupt. “You did more than that.”
Silence falls between us for a few minutes before I dare to speak again. When I do, I can’t help the onslaught of questions that fall in rapid succession.
“How did you find him? Arcadia, Ohio, and New York City aren’t exactly close. If someone took him, why take him so far? Why did they take– —?”
Basili puts his hand up, and I fall silent, recognizing the clipped movement immediately. It is a silent ‘that’s enough’. No response comes from the front seat either, the SUV falling into an awkward silence. Once again, I am painstakingly aware that whoever these men are, Basili is in charge.
Jay’s words come back to me, ‘He’s dangerous….’ my own melding with his… crime family… New York City… Italians… Cierro…
Realization dawns slowly, knowledge from my childhood creeping back in.
Growing up in my father’s home, I learned about the majority of the major players in New York.
Basili Cierro wasn’t from just any crime family; he was from the Italian crime family.
Replaying Omero’s earlier words, ‘right-hand man,’ it wasn’t a huge jump to assume that Basili is the current Don of the family.
It is the only thing that makes sense with everything that I’d learned.
It would explain why Emmanuel had been kidnapped in the first place.
I swallow hard, mind racing. If I am right, I’ll have to tread very lightly while I am with them.
If they discover my heritage, I can’t be sure that they wouldn’t use it against me.
“We’ve been tracking every possible lead we’ve found.
Dozens of false leads led us on a wild chase across five states.
We finally got lucky when one led us to the orphanage,” Basili finally says, taking a deep sigh before turning his attention from me to Omero.
“It’s getting late, and I don’t want to be out here on these icy roads.
Let’s find somewhere to rest our heads for the night. ”
“You got it, boss.”
It isn’t long until he pulls the SUV into a hotel parking lot. I am not overtly surprised to realize it isn’t just any hotel; it is the nicest one in town. Which isn’t saying much in the middle of nowhere, Pennsylvania.
“This will do,” Basili quips. “Let’s go.”
He helps me out of the SUV, Emmanuel still in my arms, before leading the way inside. I follow behind closely, Omero and Raffaello flanking us.
“Two rooms, next to each other. Top floor,” Basili tells the woman at the front desk, his tone beyond reproach. She looks nervous as she types on her computer, taking in the three hulking men accompanying me. Her eyes fall on me with concern. I give her a soft smile, one I hope is reassuring.
“Um, sure. I only have single bedrooms available, king size.”
“That will do,” he affirms, handing over a credit card.
“I call dibs on the bed,” I hear Raffaello mumble to Omero behind us, which only gains him an annoyed groan in response, and I can’t help but giggle quietly at their banter.
Wait… two rooms? One bed. My pulse starts to race — this is so bad, so, so bad.
“All set,” Basili says, handing a key card over to Omero and holding onto the second one. His eyes drop to Emmanuel. “How is he?”
“Exhausted. Hopefully, he will sleep through the night.”
“Good. He needs it.” He gestures towards the elevator. “Let’s go. We should get some rest ourselves.”
We ride up the elevator to the top floor in silence; the only sounds are the rattle of the cable wires in their holders and our breathing. The elevator stops at the third floor, and Raffaello exits first, checking the hallway before nodding to Basili.
He steps out, and I follow close behind, Omero bringing up the rear.
They escort us to our room at the end of the hallway before retreating to their own next door.
Through the wall, I can hear the door to their room loudly slam shut; obviously, etiquette isn’t their strong point at one in the morning.
The room is small but efficient, with a small kitchenette across from the bathroom, the opening between the two leading into a studio-style room.
Well furnished, there is a desk beside the King-sized bed across from the couch and dresser.
Through the curtains, I catch a glimmer of the night sky and a doorlatch that must lead out to a balcony.
I haven’t spent much time in hotels, rarely traveling except to chauffeur children who needed shuttling to and from orphanages and foster homes, but I have to admit this is nice.
Moving to the bed, Basili has already pulled the sheets back so that I can lay Emmanuel down, and together, we tuck him in from opposing sides. My stomach drops — one bedroom, one bed.
“I’ll sleep on the couch,” I say, moving to the closet to look for an extra blanket.
“No.”
“No?” I turn back to face him, feeling my brows furrow together in response to my question. “Excuse me?”
“Emmanuel won’t sleep without you; you said it yourself.
” He motions to the child soundly asleep in the middle of the king-sized bed.
“You sleep on one side; I’ll sleep on the other.
That way, someone is there if he wakes up at any point, even if one of us needs to step away to use the restroom or whatnot. ”
I want to protest. I want to demand that I need my space and that sleeping on the couch is completely acceptable and reasonable. But I can’t; he just used my own logic against me, and I hate to admit it, but he is right.
“Fine,” I agree, trying desperately to interject more confidence into my voice than I actually feel.
“I’ll take the side nearest the door.” His lips quirk up with mild amusement. “Come now, try not to sound so utterly enthusiastic.”
Of course, he would, putting himself between us and any means of escape. Or threat. I’ve never shared a bed with a man before — never even come close. The orphanage had always been my sanctuary. The only men there were Jay and the occasional volunteer.
And they most certainly weren’t devastatingly attractive, dangerous mafia dons who could as soon kill me as kiss me. The idea of either of those outcomes sends a brief shudder through my body.
“I’m thrilled. Isn’t it obvious?” I reply sarcastically, rolling my eyes as I move to the side closest to the balcony and climb under the sheets beside the sleeping boy. My exhaustion overtakes my common sense.
Basili just smirks before grabbing the small bag he pulled from the back of the SUV before entering the hotel. “I’m going to take a quick shower and freshen up. Unless you would like to go first?”
“No, go ahead. I just want to sleep,” I admit with a yawn.
He nods. “ Get some rest. I’ll try not to wake either of you as I shuffle around.”
And with that, he disappears into the bathroom. I spend several minutes listening intently to the soothing cadence of the shower. Despite my exhaustion, I just can’t fall asleep. Instead, my sense of hearing is heightened and alert following each noise that’s created by the man in the other room.
This is insane. I’ve lost my mind.
Perhaps ten minutes later, I see the shadow reflection on the wall as the bathroom door opens and the dim light floods over the kitchenette area of the room.
Basili is quiet, quieter than I’d expect a man of his size, as he moves through the space, setting down his bag on the side chair, his boots beside it on the floor.
On the other side of the bed, I catch the slightest glimmer of grey sweatpants, and it takes a moment for my brain to recognize that he is shirtless. The olive-toned skin covered in tattoos of his upper body is exposed on full display.