I shake my head subtly to clear my thoughts, risking a glance at Basili where he sits on the opposite side of Emmanuel in the backseat. He’s lost in concentration, looking at his phone, oblivious to my wayward thoughts.
‘I will not hesitate to remove you from our lives. Permanently.’The memory of our conversation this morning in the hotel room breaks through the haze of arousal that had been growing inside me as I’d revisited our intense moment on the balcony last night.
My hands clench in my lap.
Emmanuel stretches sleepily beside me, his eyes growing slowly more excited as Omero parks the car. I run my fingers through his hair gently, using the familiar motion to ground myself. Relief floods through me as I realize I’d been dreading this moment, his reaction to being home. Relief that he seems happy, not terrified to return to this place.
Focus on him, that’s why you’re here.I remind myself. Not because of the dangerous, cold-hearted man beside him.
As the SUV pulls to a stop in front of the entrance, two men in dark suits — clearly armed — take up positions flanking the far side of the vehicle facing the gate. A woman in her fifties with salt-and-pepper hair pulled back into a neat bun, wearing an apron over her clothes, appears through the massive mansion door. Her face breaks into a bright smile as one by one we all file out.
Omero and Raffaello first, opening the back doors for the rest of us, all the while on alert.
“Thank you,” I say automatically.
Omero softly drops his chin as I climb out. The gesture is courteous, almost gentlemanly. I’m not sure what I expected from the brute of a man — he’d been mostly nice to me — but I’m still surprised by the gesture.
Moving around the back of the SUV, I see that Basili is once again carrying Emmanuel. The boy is settled against his chest with practiced ease and no distress evident. The love in that simple action — the way Basili’s whole posture softens as he presses a kiss to the boy’s temple and leans his chin against his head for the briefest of moments — makes my chest ache.
Stop it,I tell myself firmly.Don’t forget what he is, who he is.
As I move to stand beside Basili, I immediately feel the weight of multiple sets of eyes. The two security guards have moved around the vehicle, flanking Omero and Raffaelo now, and are assessing me with obvious professional scrutiny.
I hate it.
“Welcome home.” The woman with the apron hurries down the steps, her smile genuine and warm. “Thank goodness you’ve found him! And I see you’ve brought a guest with you as well.”
“This is Ms.Tao,” Basili tells the woman, turning to me slightly. His eyes are shockingly bright as they meet my own; the intensity there is enough to make me look away. “She will be Emmanuel’s constant companion for the next month.”
“Oh, isn’t that nice. I’m Maria Rossi, I manage the household,” she says as she moves to stand before me, introducing herself with that same warm smile.
Her accent is thick, obviously Italian, and her eyes are kind as they take me in. She reminds me of the cook my father employed when I was very young — a woman who would try to sneak me snacks or extra treats whenever she could.
“Thank you,” I manage clumsily, still feeling the burn of Basili’s stare. Returning her smile even as I’m aware that everyone present is watching our interaction. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Rossi.”
“Maria, please,” she corrects me gently.
“Maria,” I reaffirm. Unable to contain the sudden smile at the warmth this woman is showing me.
“And Emmanuel!” Maria’s attention shifts to the boy in Basili’s arms, her expression melting to that of maternal concern. “Oh, il mio povero ragazzo. You must be exhausted. Come, come inside, all of you. I’ve got dinner cooking—— chicken parmesan and all the fixings, yes?”
Emmanuel’s eyes flutter wider at the mention of the dish, and he lifts his head from Basili’s shoulder with a grin. His face bright, he still doesn’t speak as he squirms from his father’s arms and moves to hug Maria.
“Oh tesoro, how I missed you,” she tells him as she wraps her arms around him, her eyes glistening. “We’ll get you fed and tucked into your own bed tonight. Won’t that be wonderful?”
Pulling back, Emmanuel nods, then his gaze falls back to me, making sure I’m still there. I give him a reassuring smile. Confident that I’m not going anywhere, he accepts Maria’s hand as she stands and offers it, then leads us inside.
I follow them through the massive double doors, Basili, Omero, and Raffaelo following close behind. The two men in black suits remain outside, on watch, I assume. I try not to gawk at the interior. The foyer alone is bigger than the common room at the orphanage, with marble floors and a chandelier that probably costs more than Jay’s annual budget. On either side, a staircase curves around, up the wall, to the second floor.
Once the doors are shut and we are inside, we pause just long enough to remove our coats, which are taken and placed in a closet by a waiting attendant. This feels strange, all of it beautiful, yet intimidating. Utterly foreign after the life I’ve built for myself over the past decade.
“Boss, we’ll coordinate with the security team,” Omero begins, appearing at Basili’s shoulder, “make sure everything’s locked down tight.”
“Good. I want someone on Emmanuel at all times. Another outside his door and two posted outside his window. Rotating shifts, four-hour increments. We leave nothing to chance.”
My stomach drops. Twenty-four-seven surveillance, this place is already like Fort Knox. Outside, I’d noticed several security measures already in place, cameras at every corner, discrete but present. The guardhouse just outside the gate, the high walls surrounding the property, and the two men at the front door. Now this on top of it all.
This is what it means to be the child of someone powerful, though. To live in a gilded cage, protected and imprisoned in equal measure. I remember that feeling. The constant presence of guards, the inability to go anywhere without an escort, and having no freedom. And suddenly, I find that I’m thankful for my father’s abandonment.
