“She slipped out while I was walking the perimeter. Left a note saying they’d gone to the park across the street. By the time we realized they were gone —”
“You let her leave this property unguarded.” My voice is deadly quiet. I push Emmanuel behind me and take a step toward him. “With my son.”
“Boss, I didn’t let her; she snuck out. I was doing my job, following every protocol —”
“Your job is to watch her, to protect them both. To make sure she doesn’t do exactly this.” I step closer, and Raffaello— six-foot-four of solid muscle— steps back. “Chloe could have been killed. My son could have been taken again. Because you weren’t paying attention.”
“Boss —”
“Get out. All of you. Out. Now. Before I lose my temper.”
The doctor who had been packing his bag in silence doesn’t need to be told twice. He practically runs for the door, muttering about antibiotics and rechecks as he passes by. Raffaello hesitates, opens his mouth to argue, then thinks better of it and follows suit. Omero is the only one left.
“Omero,” I turn to Emmanuel. “Take Emmanuel to his room. I’ll come check on him in a few minutes.”
“Yes, boss.” He nods then swoops the boy up in his arm as he passes by without another word. I don’t look at any of them; my eyes are locked on Chloe as I move closer to the bed.
She’s propped up on the pillows, her face pale against the linen. There’s a bandage wrapped around her midsection, visible beneath her torn shirt. Her eyes are half-closed, glassy with whatever pain medication and sedation the doctor had already given her.
But she’s here. Alive and breathing. The relief that crashes through me is so intense it nearly takes me to my knees. Flashes of my wife in the same bed years before, pale and dying, run through my head.
“Basili?” Her voice is soft, slurred. “You’re back.”
I sink into the chair beside the bed. “I’m here.”
“I thought you were in midtown at a meeting; how did you get back here so fast?”
“Omero called me.” The words come out rough with emotion I’d had no intention of showing. “I came as fast as I could. You could have been killed Chloe.”
Her eyes are heavy as she struggles to stay awake. “I’m fine. It’s just a scratch. The doctor said it looked worse than it is.”
“That’s more than a scratch,” I say, leaning forward to examine the bandage closer. “You lost enough blood to pass out, Chloe.”
“Okay, fine, it’s a big scratch.” She tries to smile, but it wobbles. “Emmanuel is safe; that’s all that matters.”
“You left the property without a guard. Without my permission —”
“I left a note.”
“A note. What were you thinking, Chloe? Honestly?”
“I didn’t think —”
“Exactly, you didn’t think. You just acted recklessly. You put both yourself and Emmanuel in danger.” I stand and begin pacing the room, needing to move as the fear and rage course through my body. “Do you have any idea what could have happened? What I would have —”
I stop, not trusting myself to say another word without becoming the cold, detached Don of the Italian Families. And I know that is the last thing Chloe needs from me right now.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice is quieter now. “I just wanted to give Emmanuel a normal afternoon. Away from the guards, the tension, and all of this. He’s been reminiscing about his time with his mother, and I thought that maybe it would help him.”
I move back to the bed, and this time I don’t stop at the chair. I sit on the edge of the mattress, carefully avoiding bumping into her or jostling her injury.
“Basili —”
I reach out slowly, giving her time to pull away, and rest my palm on her stomach just above the bandage.
“You scared the hell out of me,” I say quietly.
“I scared myself too,” she admits hesitantly. Her hand comes up to cover mine. “But I’m ok. We’re both ok.”
