Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Chloe
“Your shadow has arrived.”
I look up from the book I’m reading in the sitting room attached to Emmanuel’s room to find Raffaello leaning against the doorframe. His massive arms crossed over his chest, and his lips slightly upturned as he watches me.
He’s dressed more casually today than he was when they stormed the orphanage — dark jeans, a fitted black t-shirt that shows off every lean muscle. His tattoos, visible on his forearms.
“My what?”
“Shadow. Bodyguard. Babysitter. Whatever you want to call it.” He pushes off the doorframe and moves further into the room with a sort of easy confidence. “Boss’s orders. I’m yours for the foreseeable future.”
My stomach drops. “You’re joking. Right?”
“Do I look like someone who jokes?”
No, he doesn’t. He looks perfectly serious, and more than a little amused by my obvious discomfort with his announcement.
“I don’t need a bodyguard,” I say flatly, putting the book down in my lap.
“Boss disagrees with that opinion. And what he says goes around here,” Raffaello settles into the chair across from me, kicking his legs out and crossing his feet, making himself comfortable. “So you might as well get used to my company. I’m not going anywhere.”
“This is ridiculous. I’m not leaving the property, like he demanded so eloquently yesterday. There are guards everywhere. What exactly do you think is going to happen to me between Emmanuel's room and my own?”
He shrugs, putting his hands behind his head in complete nonchalance.
“Not my job to think. It’s my job to do what the Boss wants.
And he wants me to stick to you like glue and make sure nothing happens.
” He grins then, and there’s something knowing in his expression that makes me uncomfortable.
“You look familiar. I’ve thought that since that first night at the orphanage, you know. Have we met before?”
My heart skips a beat. “No.”
“You sure about that? I swear I’ve seen you somewhere before.” He tilts his head, studying me with those sharp eyes. “Maybe at a family event? A wedding? Or a funeral?”
Shit.
“I don’t have a family.” I lie — it comes easily, practiced. “Orphan, remember? You must be thinking of someone else.”
“Maybe.” But he doesn’t sound convinced. “It’s just, you’ve got this way of moving. Like you’re used to being watched. Used to being mindful and careful. Most normal people don’t do that.”
I force myself not to stiffen under his gaze, meeting his eyes with what I hope is a soft and unsure expression.
Acting as innocent as I can. “After ten years in an orphanage, privacy isn’t exactly something I’m used to.
With that many children to take care of and people coming and going constantly, you learn to be aware of your surroundings. ”
“Mmmm.” He’s still watching me with interest. “You know, I spent some time in upper Manhattan a few years back. Did some odd jobs when I first got put on security, the Boss’s father was Don then, we were negotiating with the head of the Triads at the time.
I attended a few gatherings, met some interesting people. ”
My blood goes cold, but I fight to keep my expression neutral, praying that the color hasn’t drained from my face. “That sounds interesting to be sure.”
“Yeah, interesting is a good word. The Triads are very particular about their protocol. Very formal.” He leans forward, moving his elbows to his knees as he does so, studying me.
“There was this one event, a daughter’s birthday celebration.
Big production, lots of important people.
The birthday girl had a younger sister who was like a shadow; she had this way of holding herself.
Very proper, very careful, watchful, and like a wraith almost. You remind me of her. ”
He knows, full-blown panic creeps in, and I fight the urge to run. Even if he doesn’t truly know, hasn’t put it all together yet, he suspects.
I know exactly what event he’s talking about. It was my older sister’s birthday, father had been presenting her to the other families. Hoping to have marriage negotiations spark from the event, but everyone had been distracted by my rare appearance, and it had angered him.
I need to shut this down before he connects the dots fully.
“I’m sure there are lots of women who carry themselves… carefully. It can’t be that unique.” I say dismissively while standing up, tucking the book under my arm. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to check on Emmanuel.”
“Of course,” Raffaello stands as well, moving to follow me.
“That’s really not necessary-”
“Boss’s orders.” His tone is pleasant but firm. “Wherever you go, I go. Please, save us both the trouble of arguing about it every single minute. Otherwise, it’s going to be one hell of a long month.”
I grit my teeth and take a deep breath before stepping off again, acutely aware of Raffaello trailing behind me like an obnoxiously persistent shadow.
Two days later, I’ve had enough. It’s been two days of Raffaello following me everywhere, questioning me at every turn, and I’m ready to lose my mind.
When I wake up in the morning, he’s outside my door waiting. When I go to Emmanuel’s room, he’s there trailing behind me. When I take Emmanuel to the library to read, Raffaello sits in a chair nearby. When we go to the garden for our daily walk, he trails behind us at a semi-discrete distance.
The only time I’m fully alone is when I’m in my room with the door closed, and even then, I’m acutely aware of his presence just outside.
It’s suffocating.
And what’s worse is that he keeps dropping little hints. Little comments that suggest he knows more about my background than he is outright saying.
“You know, you hold your chopsticks the traditional way. Not many Americans know how to do that.”
“Where’d you learn Mandarin?”
“You sure you’ve never worn a qipoa? That’s what she wore that day, red silk with gold embroidery. I’ll never forget, very striking.”
Each comment makes my stomach clench tighter, and my nerves fray further. Each one a reminder that my past isn’t as buried here as I’d hoped it would be. That the risk of someone recognizing me since I came back to New York is very real.
What if he tells Basili? Everything would fall apart. Hell, I’d be lucky to walk away unscathed if he did.
With each comment, I continue to deflect and deny, but I can see in Rafaello’s eyes that he doesn’t believe me. He’s playing with me, waiting for me to slip up.
At this point, it’s making me paranoid and irritable. Which is why on the afternoon of the second day, I find myself marching toward Basili’s office with pure determination.
Rafaello, naturally, follows close behind.
“How do you know where the boss’s office is?” he asks, sounding amused.
“Maria,” I tell him without slowing. “And before you ask, yes, I’m going to talk to him. About you.”
With a chuckle, he asks, “Should I be worried?”
“You should be hopeful that I can convince him to unassign my bodyguard.”
“Is that so?” Still amused.
“Yes, it is.” I growl as I reach the door. I knock sharply on the heavy door, but I don’t wait for an answer before pushing it open.
Basili is behind his desk, papers spread out in front of him, a phone to his ear. He looks up with mild surprise when I enter, one eyebrow raising when he sees it’s me who is intruding.
“I’ll have to call you back,” he says into the phone, then hangs up without waiting for a response. “Chloe. This is unexpected. What can I do for you?”
“I need to talk to you — about him.” I jerk my thumb toward Raffaello, who’s leaning against the doorframe, looking entirely too smug.
“Oh? Is that so?” Basili leans back in his chair, arching his fingers together in a pyramid in front of him. His expression is unreadable, but I think there’s almost a grin tugging at his lips. “Is there a problem?”
“Yes, there’s a problem. I don’t need a bodyguard following me around twenty-four seven. It’s crazy, not to mention completely unnecessary and intrusive —”
“Raffaello is there to see to your safety,” Basili interrupts smoothly. “I’m afraid this is non-negotiable.”
“I can see to my own safety like I told you before,” I argue, crossing my arms and shifting my hip to one side in pure stubborn annoyance.
“I’ve trained with Jay for ten years. I can defend myself as he —” I look at Raffaello over my shoulder with a piercing sneer.
“— found out the night you all barged into the orphanage.”
Something flickers in Basili’s eyes — interest or skepticism, I can’t really decide. He stands slowly, moving around the desk with predatory grace to stand before me, stepping toe to toe with me. So close that my pulse quickens, heart thundering in my chest.
“Show me.”
I blink. I didn’t hear that right. “What?”
“Show me that you can defend yourself.” He’s so close now, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. “If you can prove you don’t need protection, I’ll consider reducing Raffaello’s presence.”
“You want me to fight you?”
“I want you to show me that you can defend yourself.” His lips curve up in a nearly lethal smile. “Unless you’re all talk that is?”
The challenge in his voice sparks a competitive streak in me. “You’re on. Just name where and when.”
“Now.” He looks past me to Raffaello. “You can go. I’ll handle this.”
“Sure thing, Boss. Good luck, Chloe.” I look over my shoulder at Raffaello, his grin widening. “You’re going to need it.”
I shoot him a glare as he says the last part, then turn my attention back to Basili. Neither of us moves for a long moment, his gaze intense as he looks down at me, almost as if he is waiting for me to call his bluff the way he called mine.
“Where do you want to do this?” I ask, distracting myself more than anything. “I’d hate to trash your office.”
“The gym,” he announces in a tone that says ah duh as he steps around me to lead the way out of the office.