Chapter 165: The Things We Carry After Dark

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By the time we got the dining room cleaned up, secured the prisoners, and the household finally calmed down, acting like another assassination attempt wouldn’t happen between the main course and dessert...it was well past eleven.

The evening had been a total disaster.

Chairs were knocked over, one of the expensive vases lay shattered on the floor, and the lovely dinner the kitchen staff had prepared had mostly been devoured by the guards who had stood around with their weapons all night.

I was pretty sure the chef would hold a grudge against us, but given what had happened, I hoped he’d understand that being caught in a family feud involving armed men wasn’t exactly in my plans for the evening.

Dante and his crew were taken to separate secured rooms while Lorenzo’s guards kept grilling them.

The rest of the household staff had been told to keep their distance until things settled down.

Matteo had vanished somewhere after everything went down, probably looking for a drink strong enough to wash away the memory of seeing his brothers aiming guns at each other.

As for me, I had a four-year-old to put to bed.

Emil had grown sleepier during the cleanup, eventually dozing off next to me on one of the sofas. He hadn’t said much since the incident, and while he seemed calmer now, he still reached for my hand whenever someone walked by too fast or a door creaked open unexpectedly.

It was hard not to feel for him. No matter what turmoil was going on between his parents and the rest of the family, he was just a little kid who deserved to sleep soundly without worrying if the adults around him were going to show up again.

I asked one of the maids to set up a guest bedroom for him, making sure it had everything he could possibly need: a nightlight, fresh little clothes, and enough blankets for what looked like a serious dedication to sleeping comfortably.

By midnight, I was carrying him upstairs.

His little head rested against my shoulder, warm breaths tickling my neck, while one of his hands clung to my shirt.

He’d been half asleep for most of the ride, but as I entered the bedroom and gently placed him on the mattress, he stirred.

"Mommy?"

I stopped, pulling the blanket over his small body. "I’m here, Kiddo."

His eyes opened just a sliver, scanning the unfamiliar room with a sleepy frown.

"Where’s my Daddy?"

That question threw me off.

I settled on the edge of the bed, brushing his hair from his forehead as I searched for a way to explain without scaring him.

How was I supposed to tell a literal child that his father was arrested in his uncle’s home after trying to shoot same uncle, and that it was all complicated by accusations surrounding Lorenzo’s attempted murder, my attempting kidnapping and the killing of innocent party goers?

Honestly, kids should come with instruction manuals.

As you give birth to them in the hospitals, the nurse just hands you a book as big as the Bible and says; "Good luck, Champ. You’re gonna need it."

"Your Daddy’s gone on a little trip for a while," I said gently. "But don’t worry, your Uncle-Mommy Alex is here to take real good care of you until he gets back."

Emil blinked slowly, clearly processing this news, then nodded. "Okay."

And that was it.

No more questions, no big protests, and no demands for a travel itinerary. Just like that, he reached for my hand, pulling it closer to his chest, and his eyes began to flutter shut again.

"Stay?"

My heart twisted a little.

"Of course I’ll stay for a bit."

He seemed satisfied with that, and within moments, his breathing fell into a soft rhythm of sleep.

I remained beside him, watching his small face relax against the pillow and couldn’t help but wonder how many times he’d dozed off waiting for his father to come back from one of his many absences.

Lying to a child whose mother had been murdered, while his father now believed my husband was the culprit, was a grim task.

I never thought baby-sitting would come with such emotional baggage, but the Castelli family sure had a knack for turning everyday responsibilities into a complex mess.

I gently tucked the blanket around Emil’s shoulders before leaning down to kiss his forehead.

"Good night, Emil."

He made a soft sound in his sleep, fingers tightening briefly around my shirt before relaxing again.

I lingered a bit longer, thinking about Lorenzo and how he was faring after everything.

He had stayed eerily composed during the confrontation, but I had seen the look on his face when Dante accused him of Elizabeth’s murder.

I recognized that expression, one he rarely let linger long enough for anyone to pick up on.

And I suspected he wouldn’t sleep tonight.

The corridors felt unusually quiet when I finally stepped out of Emil’s room.

Most of the household had turned in for the night, leaving just a few guards scattered around the estate.

Their footsteps echoed faintly on the polished floors as I walked by, and every now and then, I caught the low murmur of someone speaking into a radio.

I checked our bedroom first, hoping maybe Lorenzo had decided to give in to exhaustion, but the room was empty.

His side of the bed hadn’t been touched, and the faint scent of his cologne still hung in the air.

Not that it surprised me.

When Lorenzo had something on his mind, sleep usually took a backseat.

I headed down the corridor toward his study, where a thin sliver of warm light peeked out from under the slightly ajar door.

I pushed it open softly and found him standing by the window, glass of bourbon in hand, his back to me.

The desk lamp cast a glow, leaving most of the room in shadows.

The light caught the pale strands of his hair and the sharp lines of his shoulders while the estate grounds loomed dark beyond the window.

He looked completely wiped out.

Yep, couldn’t blame him at all.

Not the usual tiredness that comes from a long day or too many meetings, but something heavier, like weariness had settled deep into his bones.

I stayed silent for a few seconds, just watching him before stepping inside.

"Well," I said, leaning against the doorframe, "that was one heck of a family reunion, huh, Dracula?"

Lorenzo turned, surprise instantly crossing his face.

"Alex?"

"Unless you were expecting another crazy, but super cute husband named Alex then, yes."

He checked the clock on his desk, then looked back at me. "Why are you still awake?"

"Kind of tough to sleep after my brother-in-law tried to shoot both of us a few hours back."

A small crease appeared on his forehead. "You should be resting."

"And you should be in bed, ideally with your husband, but here we are."

I walked over to the desk and sat on its edge, noticing the bourbon bottle next to a pile of documents. "Ooh, what’s this?"

Without waiting for permission, I poured myself a generous amount into the nearest glass.

Lorenzo eyed me with mild suspicion.

"Are you sure about that?"

"Please. I’m a grown man."

I lifted the glass and took a rather confident sip.

The alcohol scorched my throat.

I coughed, sputtering and nearly spilling as the fiery liquid made its way down my chest, leaving me wondering if I had just swallowed a bit of cleaning fluid.

"Holy hell! What is this shit?! Poison?!"

Lorenzo sighed, setting his own glass down and stepping closer to give me a few gentle pats on the back as I wheezed.

"You should have been more careful."

I shot him a watery glare. "You could have warned me your poison tastes like industrial cleaner."

"It is bourbon."

"Then it needs some serious help."

He shook his head, but I noticed the slightest hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth as he rubbed my back until I composed myself.

It was barely a smile...hardly enough to count, but I considered it a win.

At least I got a positive reaction out of him.

"Is Emil asleep?" he asked after I managed to stop coughing.

I nodded, wiping the tears from my eyes. "Finally. It took a bit, but he’s settled down now."

"Sorry you had to handle that. I’ll arrange for a proper nanny tomorrow until this is all sorted."

I waved my hand dismissively. "Don’t bother. I kind of like the little guy, I’ll be happy to babysit. He’s way more bearable than his bitch ass father."

A short, sad chuckle escaped Lorenzo, and it was strangely comforting. "I suppose he is."

Lorenzo looked down at me, and for a moment, the weight in his expression lightened.

I reached up and gently tucked a loose strand of pale hair behind his ear, letting my fingers linger against his cheek.

The gesture felt intentional, almost reverent, and he seemed a bit taken aback by it.

"Are you okay, Dracula?"