My lips are pouty and swollen from his kisses. My skull still feels like it’s on fire everywhere he has touched me. I can still taste him, still feel him, still hear his voice in my head.
I came here to help Emmanuel. To give him stability while he adjusts to being home.
I’m not here to develop feelings for his father. To explore whatever it is that keeps growing between us every time we’re alone. Definitely not to let him kiss me senseless on a training mat while all I can think about is tearing his clothes off and exploring every inch of his sculpted body.
Every moment I spend with Basili is a risk, to myself, to Emmanuel, to his peace and stability. I can’t risk everything by letting my guard down with the very man who would kill me if he found out the truth.
Because Raffaello knows. It’s only a matter of time before he is absolutely certain and tells Basili the truth.
I’ve got to be more careful. I need to keep my distance from Basili, and I need to stop letting him distract me. I’ve got to remember I’m walking a tightrope, and one wrong step will tighten the invisible noose around my neck.
Three weeks and five days. Then the month is up.
I just need to survive that long without falling. Either off the tightrope or for the Italian Adonis that is the Don of the New York Mafia.
A soft knock on my door makes me jump.
“Chloe?” It’s Maria’s voice, gentle and concerned. “I saw you come running inside. Are you alright?”
I take a deep breath, wiping the tears from my eyes and forcing my voice to steadiness. “I’m fine, Maria. Thank you for checking.”
“Alright, if you’re sure.” There’s a moment’s hesitation, and I can feel she wants to press me further. Instead, she thankfully relents. “Dinner will be ready soon. I’ll send someone to fetch you when it’s time to eat.”
Her footsteps fade down the hallway a moment later, and I’m alone again with my racing thoughts and the memory of Basili’s hands on my skin, his lips on mine, his eyes dark with need.
This is going to be the longest month of my life.
Dinner that night is awkward.
I sit at the massive dining table with Basili at the head, Emmanuel to his right across from me, and me to his left. The meal is perfect as usual — steak, roasted vegetables, and fresh bread — but I barely taste any of it.
I’m too aware of Basili beside me. Too aware of the way his eyes keep trying to find mine.
Emmanuel, thankfully, is oblivious to the tension between us, happily signing to me about a book he wants to read before bed.I focus on him, grateful for the distraction, responding to his questions and trying desperately to ignore the heat that floods through me every time I accidentally meet Basili’s gaze.
“Boss?” Raffaello appears in the doorway, and I tense automatically. “Sorry to interrupt, but you have a call. It’s urgent.”
Basili’s jaw tightens. “I’ll take it in my office.”
Emmanuel and I both turn to watch him as he stands, dabbing his mouth with his napkin before folding it neatly and placing it over his plate. “Excuse me.”
As soon as he leaves, I feel like I can breathe again. Until I realize that Raffaello is still there, leaning against the doorframe, watching me in the same way he always does. It makes me want to scream at him.
“So,” he says conversationally, “how was the sparring session?”
“Fine,” I say, voice clipped as I take another bite of my food. Clearly relaying that I have no desire to hold a conversation with him. It doesn’t deter him, though.
“Just fine?” He pushes. “You both looked pretty worked up when you came back to the house.”
I give him my flattest stare. “Spying on us, were you?”
“I was doing my job. Making sure you were safe.” His grin is pure mischief now. “Though it looked like the only danger you were in was from the boss himself if necessary.”
I gulp at his words. He knows I’m hiding something. And sooner or later, he’s going to figure it out. The question is what he will do when he does. More importantly, what will Basili do?
Suddenly, three weeks and five days feel like an eternity. One I might not survive.
Chapter Eight
