Chapter 6 #2
Emmanuel immediately runs to his castle bed, climbing up the drawbridge steps with enthusiasm, disappearing within the huge stage set. Stepping closer, I can see that the interior is cozy, with pillows and blankets and strips of lights throughout.
When he emerges next higher up on one of the turrets, he waves at me frantically. Signing, “Come see!”
I move on autopilot, following his direction as he shows me through the playhouse — if you could call it that. Sitting within one of the alcoves that has a soft mat and numerous pillows, he signs rapidly, excited to show me everything.
“Papa built it. With a little help. After I watched that movie about the princess finding Camelot. It’s my favorite. He said every prince needs a castle. See him —” He points to the dragon overhead. “He is supposed to be scary, but Papa says he is a nice dragon.”
My vision blurs, and I realize tears are forming in my eyes. Blinking rapidly, I hold them back. What a sweet thing to do for your child… I can’t believe all this.
Basili built this. The stoic, guarded Don of the Italian crime family —the same one who had kissed me and then threatened my life — had taken the time to build this for his son. He’d followed the boy’s interests enough to know what it would mean to him and made it a reality.
I turn to look at Basili, who’s standing beside the doorway watching us with an expression I can’t quite decipher. There’s pride there, but something more — a deep sadness. A longing perhaps.
“It’s beautiful,” I sign to Emmanuel, turning my attention back to him. Then, out loud for Basili’s benefit, I say, “It’s the most amazing room I’ve ever seen. You’re very loved, Emmanuel.”
Emmanuel beams, grabbing my hand once more to show me to his toy chest—— an elaborately carved wooden piece decorated with more of the same characters from the movie.
He then proceeds to pull out action figures, books, and much more.
All the treasures of childhood carefully preserved exactly where he had left them.
For the first time since he’d shown up at the orphanage, Emmanuel looks like any other child. Not a traumatized victim or a puzzle to be solved, just a nine-year-old boy excited to show off his favorite things.
I look around myself again as he continues to pull things from the chest. My mind is still reeling at what I’m seeing. Despite everything — the guards, the guns, the threats — Basili is just a father who loves his son deeply enough to build him a castle. A safe haven.
That’s when it hits me, a question I hadn’t yet asked myself. Where is Emmanuel’s mother?
With a new eye of scrutiny, I look around the room, then contemplate the rest of what I’d seen of the house. There had been no sign of a lady of the mansion. A mother would have been there to greet her child, especially if that child had been taken from her…
Deep in my gut, I feel the answer to my own question: She’s dead. I don’t know how I know, but I know. Blinking back a tear with that unspoken truth, I glance at Basili again. This time, with an entirely new appreciation for his desperate need to have his son home safe and sound.
Maybe I’ve been too harsh on him. Maybe —
“Chloe.”
My name on his lips pulls me from my thoughts. His tone is formal, distant. And I can’t help it, I don’t like it. The momentary glimpse of a loving, dutiful father was replaced once more by the mask of the Don.
“Come, I’ll show you to your room. We don’t have much time before dinner, and you need to clean up.”
I glance at Emmanuel, who’s already spreading out his toys on the floor. Seemingly comfortable in his own space.
“Come,” Basili insists. This time it’s definitely a command.
Hesitantly, I follow him out of Emmanuel’s room, down the hallway a short way to another door. This one is white with a black swirl mark close to a fleur de leis on it. With a hand on the door, he hesitates, then opens it and motions for me to proceed inside.
“This will be yours for the duration of your stay,” Basili says behind me. “It’s close enough to Emmanuel for you to be present, yet far enough to provide you with your own space. Mrs. Rossi will make sure you have everything you need.”
The room is beautiful — elegant yet comfortable, with a large bed, an ensuite bathroom, and a sitting area by the window overlooking a rose garden. It’s decorated in creams with black accenting, classically expensive, yet peaceful.
“Dinner will be in thirty minutes. Someone will come get you to show you to the dining room. There should be at least a few items in the closet that will fit you. If you need additional, more suitable clothes while you’re here, I’ll send a valet to fetch some.”
He moves toward the door, clearly taking his leave.
But then he pauses, his hand on the doorframe, and turns back to face me.
The softness that showed through in Emmanuel’s room is completely gone now.
His expression is hard and unyielding now, every inch the mafia Don that I have no doubt many feared.
“One more thing, Chloe.”
I wait, all the while holding my breath. That warm feeling from seeing the castle is extinguished as the hairs on my neck stand up in anticipation.
“You are not to leave this property. Not without my direct permission. And certainly not with Emmanuel without me accompanying you personally. Is that clear?”
It was clear, — clear that I had just become the closest thing to a prisoner that someone who volunteered to be here could be.
“Excuse me?” Is the only response I can muster.
“You heard me.” His tone is matter-of-fact, unarresting. “For the next month, you stay here. Within these walls. I can’t protect you if I don’t know where you are or what you’re doing. And I will not have you compromising Emmanuel’s safety.”
The warmth evaporates completely, replaced instead by ice-cold fury.
“I’m not your prisoner.”
“You’re not a prisoner. You’re a guest who happens to be restricted to the property for the foreseeable future.” He says it so flippantly, so reasonably, that I want to scream at him. “The property is large. There’s plenty of space for you to wander within the walls.”
“A gilded cage is still a cage,” I protest.
“Those are the terms. You’re free to leave at any time,” he starts to close the door. “But should you leave, don’t ever plan to come back.”
And then he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him. I stand in the middle of the beautiful, spacious room with my mouth slightly dropped open, feeling the walls close in on me.
One month. I just have to survive one month in this place.