Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Basili
“Idon’t want to hear excuses, Omero. I want answers!”
I pace behind my desk, phone pressed to my ear, my free hand clenched into a fist. It’s nearing midnight, and I’m still holed up in my office, reviewing the same useless reports, still getting no answers.
“Boss, we’re doing everything we can,” Omero’s voice crackles through the line. “But the Russians have gone to ground. Nobody’s talking. Every lead we’ve chased down has —”
“Turned into nothing. Yes, I’m aware.” I cut him off, frustration bleeding into anger. “That’s all you’ve been telling me for three days. Nothing. Dead ends. No results. I’m sick of it. I want to know who is responsible and why they took him!”
“With all due respect, boss, they’re not excuses. They’re the facts. Whoever orchestrated Emmanuel’s kidnapping knew what they were doing. They’ve covered their tracks well.”
“Then uncover them!” My voice rises despite my best effort. “I don’t care what it takes. Rip the entire district apart if you need to. Offer more bribes. Break more fingers. But get me some damn answers.”
There’s a momentary silence over the line, and I take a deep breath, trying to contain my desire to blow up and destroy my entire office in the process.
When Omero speaks again, his voice is careful, measured.
“Boss, maybe you should take a step back from this. You’re not thinking clearly. Haven’t been for days.”
“My thinking is perfectly clear.”
“Is it?” He insists, an accusatory tone seeping in. “You’ve been distracted. Unfocused. And that’s not like you.”
I stop pacing. “Are you questioning my ability to lead this investigation?”
“No. I’m questioning whether your head is in the game or not.” Another pause. “Or whether it’s spread thin and somewhere else entirely.”
“My personal life is none of your concern.”
“It is when it affects your judgement. When it makes you reckless, volatile, and sloppy. It’s my job as your second to get you back on task.”
“I’m not sloppy —”
“You threw a contract at me yesterday because you couldn’t make a decision.
You’ve snapped at three of our best men for minor infractions.
You’re in your office at ten to midnight yelling at me about an investigation that you know is going to take time to solve.
” Omero’s voice softens slightly. “That’s not like you, boss. ”
He’s right. And I hate that he is.
“Just find me something I can use,” I say, forcing my voice back to cold, distant professionalism. “A name. Location. Anything that gets me closer to the man who ordered my son’s kidnapping.”
“I’m working on it. But boss? Maybe you should work on whatever’s happening with Chloe. One problem at a time is all any man can handle. Even you.”
I don’t dignify that with a response. “Call me when you have something concrete. Not before.”
Then I hang up before he has a chance to respond, tossing the cell phone onto the desk with more force than necessary.
Three days. Three days of Chloe being polite, distant, and completely beyond my reach. Three days of trying to focus on finding the people who took Emmanuel, and all I can think about is the hurt and disappointment on her face.
The hurt in her eyes when she’d barged into my office that night haunts me still. The cold resignation when she said she didn’t want to be the other woman.
Omero’s right. I’m not thinking clearly. I haven’t been since she walked out of my office.
She’s laid low, taken care of Emmanuel like she promised she would with the same dedication, if not more, than before. They’ve spent every day watching movies, playing games, and I had even heard him laugh yesterday. But the moment I enter the room, her smile fades. Her warmth disappears.
Chloe has built a wall between us, and I have no idea how to breach it.
I should be focused on the contracts, the intel, on anything that helps our family move forward. My men have been working around the clock, following leads in all the right places.
But Omero’s right, I can’t concentrate.
Every time I try to review intelligence reports, I see her face. I’m the Don of the Italian Mafia. I’ve negotiated territory take-over deals without blinking, stared down enemies without flinching, but one woman’s disappointment has me completely off balance.
I need to fix this.
The sound of light footsteps on the stairs pulls me from my thoughts. Quick, trying to be quiet.
Chloe.
I’m out of my chair and into the hallway before I consciously know I’m moving. She’s already at the top of the stairs, heading toward her room. I take the stairs two at a time to catch her.
“Chloe.”
She freezes the moment I say her name, her hand on the doorknob, and for a moment, I think she’s going to ignore me completely. But to my relief, she turns to face me— shoulders stiff, arms wrapped around herself, eyes down —and waits for me to reach her.
“It’s late,” she says without looking at me. “I’m headed to bed.”
“We need to talk.”
“There’s really nothing to talk about, Basili.”
“Yes, we do. You’ve been avoiding me for three days.”
“I haven’t been avoiding you. I’ve been doing my job.” She still won’t look at me as she speaks. “Isn’t that what you wanted? For me to mind my own business and do what I came here to do?”
That stings, my own words thrown back at me.
“That’s not what I meant.”
She finally looks up at me, the look in her eyes cold and timid all at the same time. Which tears at my heart. “You made it very clear. You have your life, your business, your arrangements.”
“Chloe —”
“Goodnight, Mr. Cierro.” She turns back to her door.
“Don’t.” The word comes out harsh. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why not? It’s what you wanted.”
“That’s not what I wanted. It’s the furthest thing from what I wanted.”
She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Right. That’s why you told me to forget what I heard. To mind my own business. To stop being dramatic and to focus on Emmanuel.”
I move to close the distance between us, and she backs against the door, eyes flashing with an emotion halfway between anger and hurt.
“What you overheard, it’s nasty business,” I tell her, keeping my voice low so that we don’t wake Emmanuel. “Complicated. I just wanted to shelter you from it. I don’t want you caught up in that part of my world.”
“And you thought you would achieve that by lying to me?”
“I didn’t lie —”
“No. You dismissed me. Talked to me like I was nothing, no one.” Her voice cracks. “After everything that happened between us, you just pushed me aside as if none of it mattered.”
“It mattered. All of it mattered.” I reach for her, but she flinches away, and that single movement stops me cold. “Chloe, please. Just listen to me.”
“I don’t want to hear it, Basili. I can’t do this.” She shakes her head. “Just please, let me go to bed. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“Not until you talk to me. Really talk to me, not this cold, distant version you’ve been giving me for the past three days.”
“What do you want me to say?” Her eyes shine with unshed tears. “That it’s fine? I’m fine? That it doesn’t bother me in the slightest that you’re planning on marrying —”
“I’m not planning a marriage.” The words come out forced, definitive. “I haven’t agreed to anything yet.”
“Yet,” she repeats. “You haven’t agreed yet. But you’re considering it, aren’t you?”
I can’t deny it, so I don’t even try.
“It’s complicated,” I say instead.
“That’s what people say when they’re doing something that they know in their gut is wrong.”
“It’s not that, it’s just — business.” I run a hand through my hair, frustrated now. “The head of the Tao family — they are a part of the Chinese Triad — they are the ones who sent the proposal. It would be an alliance, one that we could really use. They’re offering territory, a peace treaty.”
She goes still, listening intently.
“In exchange, they want a marriage. A traditional alliance between our families.” I watch her carefully. “It’s how things are done in my world, Chloe. Marriages are strategic. It’s been that way in my family for generations.”
“And you’re considering it.”
“I am considering the benefits to this family. To the people who rely on me. Do you know what a time of peace could mean for Emmanuel’s future?” I step closer again, and this time she doesn’t back away. “But Chloe, I haven’t agreed to anything. I told Omero no that night.”
Her eyes flash up to meet mine. “You did?”
“Before you walked in, I’d already told him no.”
“Then why are you still considering it?” Her voice is steady, low, and full of emotion.
“Because it’s my duty, my responsibility.” The words taste bitter. “Because I’m the Don of this family, and sometimes what I want doesn’t matter.”
“That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“It’s the life I was born into. The responsibility I took on when I accepted this position.” I reach for her slowly, giving her time to pull away, and when she doesn’t, I cup her face. “But you need to understand that you are never, ever the other woman.”
A tear escapes then, sliding down her cheek and over my thumb.
“Then what am I?” She asks, the words an echo from days before.
“You’re the reason I said no in the first place.” The confession is out of my lips before I can stop it. “The reason I can’t think straight right now. I can’t focus on the things I need to be focusing on. I can’t do anything but think about how much I want to fix this between us.”
“Basili —”
“I know I hurt you. I’ve handled so many things wrong from the moment I met you.” I bring my other hand up to frame her face. “Whatever this is between us, it’s real. It matters. You matter to me.”
She closes her eyes, raising her hands to my wrists to pull my hands from her face gently. “But not enough.”
Those words are like a sharp knife to my gut.
“That’s not fair.”
“Sometimes, Basili, life isn’t fair.”
“Chloe, what do you want from me?” I let my hands drop to my side. “I’m trying to find a way to have both —”
“You can’t have both!” Her voice rises slightly then drops again when she remembers that Emmanuel is sleeping down the hall. “You can’t have a wife for politics and… whatever I am. That’s not how this works. That’s not who I am. I need someone who chooses me. Just me.”
She looks up at me, and I see the resignation settle over her face once more. The same resignation I’d seen there three days prior.
“I want someone who chooses me,” she says again, her voice cracking.
“Chloe —”
“But I understand.” She puts her hand on the doorknob again, backing against the door. “I understand that’s not who you are. That it’s not the life you lead. You have an empire to run.”
“So where does that leave us?”
Her eyes grow even sadder, and the pain in my chest is sharp and physical in response.
“There is no us, Basili.”
“So that’s it? You’re just giving up?”
“I can’t be involved in this world.” She shakes her head. “Not again —”
“Again? What do you mean again?” I ask, brows furrowing in confusion, but she doesn’t answer me.
“I know how this goes. No matter what is between us, you’re still going to consider that alliance. Still going to weigh us against duty. And eventually, duty will win. It always does with men like you.”
Then, in one fluid motion, she turns the knob and falls backwards through the door, slamming it in my face.
“Chloe,” I press my forehead against the door as I say her name, pounding my fist on it once in frustration.
For a moment, I consider breaking the door down and forcing her to talk to me, to believe me. Then the reality of what just happened washes over me.
Two weeks. I’ve only got two weeks to fix this. Then she’ll be gone.