Chapter 8 #2
I turn to look at him, surprised by the admission. His eyes are still on the screen, but there’s something soft in his expression.
“Basili —”
“You’re good with him. Better than I could have hoped.” He finally looks at me, and the intensity of his gaze makes my breath catch. “Thank you. For this. For making him feel safe enough to open up.”
“I’m not doing anything special. Just spending time with him.”
“You build him a fort. You’re watching his favorite movie. You’re the only one who can speak to him fluently in ASL. That’s not nothing, Chloe.”
The sincerity in his voice makes my chest constrict. Here we are again, back in dangerous territory.
I try to shrug it off. “Anyone would do the same.”
“No. They wouldn’t.” His hand finds mine, fingers tangling in a gesture that feels completely natural. “Most people would have left him to the care of his family and hoped that he got the help he needed making the adjustment. You created a space for him to heal in, at his own pace.”
I don’t know what to say to that. Swallowing hard. I don’t know how to respond to his fingers wrapped around mine. The way he’s looking at me. So, I don’t say anything at all. I just let our hands stay linked, hidden beneath the blanket, and try to focus on the movie.
Focusing becomes increasingly difficult as the minutes tick by. Basili doesn’t let my hand go, his thumb occasionally brushing across my knuckles. The contact is both soothing and electric.
I’m hyperaware of every small movement he makes. The way he shifts slightly to get closer. The quiet sound of his breathing. The occasional rumble of laughter when something amusing happens on the screen.
And slowly, as the movie continues and the fort stays cozy and warm, I feel my body start to relax despite my best efforts. My shoulders drop, my breath evens out, and at some point, my head droops to rest against his shoulder.
I should move. Should sit up and put distance between us. But I’m tired, and he’s so warm and comforting, I just can’t bring myself to do it.
The past few days have been emotionally exhausting, and the solid strength of his shoulder beneath my cheek, the gentle rhythm of his breathing, is putting me to sleep.
Enjoy it, just for a moment, I tell myself. Just for a few minutes, I let my eyes drift closed.
“Chloe, wake up.”
The voice is low, gentle, accompanied by a hand stroking the side of my face. I make a small sound of protest and burrow deeper into the warmth that I’m sleeping against.
“Chloe.” The voice is more insistent now, yet amused. “The movie’s over. We need to get Emmanuel to bed.”
Emmanuel. Movie. Fort. The words slowly make sense. Oh God.
My eyes snap open, and I realize with mortification that I’m not just leaning against Basili anymore. At some point during my impromptu nap, I fully curled into his side, my head on his chest, one hand fisted in his shirt with my legs tucked up beside me.
His arm is wrapped around me, holding me close, his hand stroking my hair.
I scramble up so fast, I nearly knock down the lights.
“I’m so sorry,” I stammer, my face burning. “I didn’t mean to —”
“It’s fine. You were tired.” There’s laughter in his voice, warm and genuine. His shirt is wrinkled from where I pressed against him. “You fell asleep about twenty minutes ago. Emmanuel fell asleep right after you, so I just…” He shrugs. “… stayed.”
I look down to see Emmanuel curled up on his pile of pillows, fast asleep, his face peaceful in the soft glow of the Christmas lights.
“We should get him to bed,” I say, needing an excuse to move. Something else to focus on.
“Agreed.” Basili carefully extricates himself from the fort, and I busy myself with folding blankets to avoid watching how gracefully he moves despite his size.
By the time I emerge from the fort with my arms full of blankets, he’s already scooped Emmanuel up, cradling his son against his chest with practiced ease.
Emmanuel stirs slightly but doesn’t wake, just mumbles something incoherent and burrows further into his father’s chest.
“I’ll take these back to the linen closet,” I say quietly, gesturing to the blankets I’m folding. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
Basili nods, already heading down the hallway. I make a quick trip to deposit the blankets, then follow.
The castle bed looks more magical in the dim light from the nightlights. Basili navigates the drawbridge steps with ease, settling Emmanuel onto the mattress inside the structure and pulling the covers up around him.
I loiter in the doorway, not sure if I should stay or go, but I can’t seem to make myself leave.
Because watching Basili with his son does something to me.
The gentleness in every movement. The way he tucks the blankets in just so.
The soft words he murmurs as he brushes Emmanuel’s hair back from his forehead.
“Dormi bene, campione mio,” he murmurs just loud enough that I can hear, pressing a kiss to Emmanuel’s temple. “Sogni d’oro. Ti amo piú di quanto le parole possano dire.”
This is what I keep forgetting, what I keep trying to ignore. Beneath the Don, beneath the dangerous man with the guns and the goons and the threats, is just a father who loves his son desperately.
And that man is far more dangerous to my heart than the cold, controlled Don ever could be.
He catches me watching as he descends the drawbridge steps, and something flickers across his face when he sees the look on my face. But he doesn’t comment, just gestures for me to follow him out of the room.
We leave Emmanuel’s room, leaving the door cracked open, just the way he likes it. Basili walks me to my door, and I expect him to say goodnight and leave.
Instead, he faces me, stepping into my space until I back into the wall, and he puts one arm over my head, leaning in over me. His other hand comes up to brush the hair from my face gently.
“Thank you,” he says. “For tonight. For the fort, the movie…” He pauses, and I can see him searching for the words. “… for being exactly what he needs most right now.”
“I told you, it’s nothing-”
“It’s everything, Chloe.” He steps closer, and my breath catches. “Don’t diminish what you’re doing for him. For me.”
He reaches up, his hand cupping my cheek, thumb brushing my skin.
“Buonanotte, tesoro,” he murmurs.
And then he leans in and presses a kiss to my other cheek, soft and brief. Somehow more intimate than any of the heated kisses we’ve shared previously.
When he pulls back, his hand lingers on my face a moment longer before dropping away.
“Sleep well,” he says in English this time.
And all I can do is nod, not trusting my own voice.
He turns and begins to walk away, and I turn to push the door open, eager to get into the only sanctuary I have here. But as I push the door open, I realize something.
The hallway is empty. Raffaello isn’t at his usual post outside my door.
“Basili?” I call out quietly.
He stops, turning back to glance at me over his shoulder.
“Where’s Raffaello?”
A smile curves his lips, slow and knowing. “I gave him the night off.”
“Why?”
“Because a little bit of trust can go a long way sometimes. Goodnight, Chloe.” This time, he doesn’t look back as he walks away.