“I couldn’t stand by and do nothing, Basili,” I murmured against his shoulder. “Not this time.”
He shifts to look down at my father’s body. “It’s over, tesoro. He can’t hurt you anymore. But we need to get Emmanuel and get out of here.”
“Omero went to get him,” I tell him, and he pulls back enough to look at me.
“Good. Let’s go.” He takes my hand and leads the way out.
We run back through the chaos; Basili and Raffaello keep me sandwiched between them through the hallways, over bodies, past the destruction that’s been wrought. Out the front door, down the steps, toward the cars.
Omero is there waiting in Basili’s sports car, engine running. Emmanuel in the back seat, and when he sees us, his face lights up.
“Papa! Chloe!” I hear him yell, and I’m both touched and awed that he chooses this exact moment to speak again.
We pile into the car— me in the back with Emmanuel and Raffaello, Basili in the front while Omero drives.
“Go!” Basili orders. But Omero already has his foot to the floor, the tires squealing beneath us.
We tear through the compound gates onto the street, putting distance between us and the massacre we’re leaving in our wake. Emmanuel throws his arms around me, sobbing. I hold himtight, pressing kisses to his hair, whispering that he’s safe, that we’ve got him, that no one is ever going to take him away from us ever again.
In the front seat, Basili is on his phone, ordering the others to retreat. His face is battered, bruised, and bloody. His right eye is nearly swollen shut already, but he’s alive. We all are.
Epilogue
Chloe
The drive home is a blur of relief and exhaustion. Emmanuel sits between Raffaello and me in the back seat, refusing to let go of my hand. Omero drives; Basili watches Emmanuel and me in the mirror from the passenger’s seat.
From the reports so far, we lost two men. Good men who gave their lives to bring Emmanuel home. I’ll mourn them later. Right now, all I can focus on is the little boy pressed against my side and the man I’m in love with in the front seat.
When we pull through the mansion gates, Maria is running down the front steps to meet us, tears streaming down her face. The moment we’re out of the car, she scoops Emmanuel up, falling in a crumpled heap on the ground, rocking him, and lulling him soothingly in rapid Italian.
An all too familiar scene. Only this time, Emmanuel speaks to her. “I’m okay. I’m safe.”
Maria’s eyes widen in response, looking from Emmanuel to Basili to me and back to Emmanuel. “You’re talking! Emmanuel, you’re actually talking!”
The revelation only makes her cry harder. Basili places a hand on Maria’s shoulder, his voice gentle. “Let’s get him inside. Get him cleaned up, fed, and into bed.”
We move as a unit into the house and up the stairs to Basili’s master bedroom, the biggest, safest room in the house. The room where we can all be together. He dismisses everyone, leaving just the three of us alone.
The bathroom is massive with a tub big enough for three people. I run the water while Basili helps Emmanuel out of his dirty clothes. Maria brings fresh pajamas from his room, soup, bread, and everything else she can think of.
Emmanuel climbs into bed after eating a few bites, and the words start pouring out.
“They kept me in a dark room. It was cold. There were men with guns blocking the door. I was so scared, Papa. But I remembered what you told me. About being brave. About the dragon protecting the castle.” His hands move through the water, making waves. “I remembered Chloe. How she found me the first time. I knew you’d both come for me.”
“Always,” Basili says, his voice rough. “Always, compione.”
“Are they all gone? The bad men?” Emmanuel looks between us. “Are we safe now?”
“They’re gone,” I reassure him. “They can’t hurt you anymore. They can’t hurt any of us.”
“Good.” He’s quiet for a moment, then he adds, “Chloe?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Can you stay? Forever?” His dark eyes are so earnest, so hopeful. “I don’t want you to leave. I want you to stay and be my new mother.”
“Your mother?” I whisper, repeating the word tentatively, my throat tight.
