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.
