Defining What Matters
Santino didn’t think he’dever felt so helpless as when he sat there, consumed by someone else’s pain and a white-hot rage that wanted to shred him apart from the inside. Even when his own father had died and he’d been forced to watch his mother grieve, forced to watch his then-all-powerful grandfatherfret over her like she was a fragile doll, he himself hadn’t felt so goddamnuseless. Probably, in that case, because he’d been young when his father passed.
That was how Santino had learned about death, and the power it held over those who were left behind. As a child, he’d worried for his mother. He’d revered his grandfather’s seemingly unfailing strength. He’d vowed to be the same, to be the next towering, iron flagpole that both supported and guided their family. In a twisted way, losing his father at such a tender age had been a motivation. He no longer had any true memories of the man. Any sense of inadequacy he might have felt as a toddler was long forgotten.
He wished Reiko’s pain could be as forgettable.
He wished he could take it from her.
All he could do, however, was hold her while she let the emotions roll through. Hold her while her heart bled out in steady streams of tears and her sobs strangled her. She didn’t need his anger, even if it was meant in a supportive way, so Santino did his best to rein it in and simply be present. He peppered her shoulder and hair with kisses. He rubbed his hands over her back. He held her tight to his chest.
While, silently, he vowed that Osamu Matsunaga would suffer before he died. Very fucking soon. Maybe Hiroto, too, on principle.
None of that could happen immediately. Reiko needed him. She needed one person to be in her corner, be present for her, and his new mission in life was to be that person.
They sat, neither attempting to speak, under the agonizing weight of trauma too long ignored.
Slowly, her sobs lessened. Her breathing settled into something still far from steady, but a good degree calmer than the near-hysterical state she’d escalated into. The tremors that had begun to shake her faded away.
Santino pulled a hand from her skin to rush out a text to Armando. No way in hell the napkins that had come with their uneaten lunch were going to cut it.
Send in a maid with a full box of tissues and a garbage pail. And I want a complete background on Osamu and Hiroto on my desk by sunrise.
He tucked the phone back into his pocket without waiting for Armando’s response. The man was capable and his instructions had been clear. So, he gently swept some of Reiko’s loosened hair from her face and spoke in his gentlest tone. “How can I help, beautiful? Want me to have Guiseppi bring you some hot tea? Think you can eat anything? We can go out for something sweet instead if you’d rather. Or I can take you upstairs, and you can take a nice, long soak. I have a fucking fantastic tub.” He offered her a smile when she finally met his gaze. “I’ll even let you soak by yourself if you’d prefer. This once.” He added the last bit in an attempt to lighten her spirits. Though it was also true.
He was a damn genius, it turned out.
She smiled.
It was a small, shaky smile, but her lips distinctly lifted in the upward direction. Her already reddening brown eyes even warmed a bit. “Thank you,” she said, her words a hoarse whisper. She pulled a hand from his skin—which he immediately hated—and raised it toward her face as her eyes lowered and her cheeks flamed. “I, um, could I have a napkin?”
The words were still leaving her lips when the door opened, soft taps carrying on the air with the movement.
Reiko stiffened, her eyes flying wide.
Santino leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead, murmuring, “It’s okay.” He kept himself at the sideways angle ashe straightened enough to not say his next words directly in her face. “Set them beside me and go.”
“Yes, sir,” the maid Armando sent replied softly. A swish of fabric and the more solid sound of a pail being carefully lowered to the hardwood followed. She murmured to clarify her exit and seconds later the door shut again.
Reiko exhaled heavily. “A … maid?”
Santino offered her a grin. “Thought you’d be less uncomfortable with a woman.” He turned to reach for the tissues, and therefore oblige the intention behind her napkin request, and was wholly unprepared for her response.
“You’re shirtless, too, though!”
His head swiveled back around and he stared at her, the square box precariously gripped between his fingers.
She scrunched up her tear-stained face and planted her fingertips on his bare, somewhat tear-smudged chest. “You’re technically wearing even less than me.” She gave a hard sniffle, attempting to breathe through her congestion.
Santino blinked. “Are you … jealous?” His lips lifted inappropriately and he finally held out the tissue box. “Does it bother you to have other women potentially ogling my body?”
Her face burned brighter and she snatched the box. “No.” She looked down and her posture relaxed. “This is— You called her in for me?”
“I did.”
She pursed her lips shut and another tear rolled down her cheek before she tore into the box. She didn’t say a word, awkwardly turning her head when she realized he wasn’t going to let her move out of reach, until she’d cleaned herself up enough to breathe at least a little. Then, finally, she quietly said, “I think I would like to eat lunch now, please.”
Santino chuckled. She wasn’t ready to face that particular feeling, then. He’d pushed her harder than he’d meant toalready, so he chose to let the subject of her possessiveness drop. Even though it delighted him. He reached for the bowl of fruit, picked up an apple slice, and held it out to her. “Ladies first.”
