Chapter 168: The Tiny Castelli Don

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I shot him a sympathetic look. "Let’s hope the next family interrogation is more fruitful than the family dinner. I’d hate to have another meal interrupted by someone declaring a murder and reaching for a gun. It makes it really hard to digest."

His smile returned, although it was a bit weary around the edges.

We chatted for a while longer, sometimes returning to the investigation but gradually shifting towards lighter topics that had nothing to do with death, betrayal, or the Castelli family’s astounding inability to act like normal people.

At some point, Lorenzo mentioned he’d have breakfast brought to our room, and I told him I expected pancakes since I felt I’d already dealt with enough for one night.

He agreed without any argument.

I was starting to think my husband would agree to almost anything if it meant I’d stop talking long enough to fall asleep.

Unfortunately for him, I was a very dedicated talker.

At least, I was until my eyelids started drooping between sentences.

I remember Lorenzo asking if I was still listening, and I told him I was perfectly capable of listening with my eyes closed.

I also recall insisting that the bourbon hadn’t affected me, despite the fact that I had apparently started mumbling things that made completely no sense.

Then, the next thing I knew, I was no longer in the study.

I woke up with a pillow under my cheek, a blanket wrapped around my shoulders, and a sinking feeling that I had no clue how I got into bed.

For a few seconds, I stared at the ceiling, trying to piece together the events of the previous night.

I recalled the study, the bourbon, Lorenzo’s voice.

Then I remembered drifting off. I slowly turned my head.

Lorenzo was right next to me, already awake, leaning against the headboard with a tablet in his hands.

His hair was loosely tied back, and he had changed into a clean shirt but still looked weary around the eyes.

I squinted at him.

"Did you carry me upstairs?"

He looked up from his tablet. "You fell asleep on my desk."

"That wasn’t my question."

"Yes, Alex. I carried you upstairs."

I stared at him, then glanced down at the blanket draped over me. Wonderful. I had been princess-carried again by a man who always looked far too proud of himself for performing unnecessary acts of affection.

"Did you take off my shoes too?"

"Yes."

"Did you tuck me in?"

"Yes."

I shut my eyes. "I see."

"Is something wrong, amore bello?"

"Nothing. I’m just processing the fact that I appear to be married to a very expensive delivery service."

He set his tablet down and brushed a few stray strands of hair away from my forehead. The gesture was gentle, but I could see he was still tired when he leaned in closer.

"Did you sleep?" I asked.

"A little."

I stared at him. "How much is a little?"

"Enough."

"That’s not a real measurement, Dracula."

He shot me a look that suggested he wasn’t particularly interested in being grilled before breakfast.

Unfortunately for him, I came from a long line of people who wouldn’t mind their own business.

"Lorenzo, you can’t spend all night drinking bourbon, investigating a conspiracy, and managing every problem here while getting just three hours of sleep."

"I didn’t drink that much."

"You have an entire crime organization at your disposal. Surely one of them can read a report while you catch some Zs."

He didn’t respond.

I took his hand, flipping it over to examine his knuckles. The skin was still a bit swollen from where he’d hit Dante with the gun...guess his knuckles had gotten hurt too somehow. There was a faint mark near one of his fingers.

"You should get this checked out."

"It’s nothing."

"That’s what people say right before finding out something is actually wrong."

He gave my hand a soft squeeze. "I’ll get it checked."

"Good. And you should eat breakfast."

"Yes, tesoro."

"And sleep."

"Yes."

"And stop agreeing with me just to get me to be quiet."

This time, he actually laughed. I considered that a small victory.

By the time I had dressed and made my way downstairs, the estate had already begun operating under what appeared to be a military occupation.

There were even more guards stationed along the corridors, two men stood near the entrance to the dining room, and another pair were positioned outside the west wing.

How many guards worked in this estate?!

A million?!

However, the usual relaxed movement of the household had been replaced with quiet efficiency, and even the servants who normally greeted me with cheerful smiles seemed more cautious than usual.

I understood why, of course.

Dante and his men were still being held, and nobody knew whether the previous night’s violence had been the beginning of something worse.

Still, I did not particularly enjoy having breakfast under the watchful eyes of men who looked as though they were prepared to shoot the toast if it moved suspiciously.

The lingering scent of gun oil had not entirely disappeared from the house either, and when I passed the dining room, I noticed that the doors were open while two servants carried out the last of the damaged furniture.

I paused to look inside.

The room had been cleaned, but there were still faint marks on the floor where the chairs had been overturned, and one of the table legs had apparently been damaged beyond repair.

Whoever had been responsible for restoring the room deserved a medal.

Or a therapist.

Preferably both.

I continued toward the breakfast room, where I found Leon sitting beside Emil with a small plate of food in front of the child.

Leon was helping him cut a piece of fruit while Emil concentrated on arranging the pieces into what appeared to be a very complicated architectural design.

"Good morning," I greeted them.

Emil immediately looked up. "Mommy!"

He abandoned his fruit arrangement and reached both arms toward me, nearly knocking over his glass in the process.

I caught it before it could spill, then leaned down to lift him into my arms.

"Good morning, squirt."

He wrapped his arms around my neck, resting his cheek against my shoulder.

Leon smiled. "He has been waiting for you."

"Have you?" I asked Emil.

He nodded seriously. "I saved you a strawberry."

I looked at the plate.

There was one strawberry left, slightly squashed beneath a piece of banana.

"How generous. I can see you’ve spared no expense."

Emil giggled, and I settled into the chair beside him, placing him on my lap while Leon moved the plate closer.

"Have you eaten breakfast?" I asked.

Emil shook his head.

"Why not?"

"I don’t like eggs."

I looked at the plate. "You haven’t even touched them."

"They look...funny."

"They look like eggs."

"They’re yellow."

"That’s generally how eggs work, kid."

Leon lowered his head, attempting to hide a smile.

I picked up a small piece of egg with my fork. "Look, I’ll eat one first. If I survive, you can try it."

Emil watched me suspiciously as I took a bite.

"See? Still alive."

"More?"

I blinked. "More what?"

"More eggs."

I stared at him, then looked at Leon, who had now given up pretending he wasn’t laughing.

"You’re negotiating with me," I said.

Emil nodded.

"You’re four years old."

Another nod.

"And somehow you’re already better at this than half the adults in this house."

Leon laughed quietly as Emil finally accepted a small bite of egg, apparently satisfied that he had successfully negotiated the terms of his breakfast.

For a while, we talked about ordinary things.

Emil told me about a picture he wanted to draw, complained that his socks were uncomfortable, and asked whether I would help him build a tower after breakfast.

I agreed, although I warned him that I was not responsible if the tower collapsed and crushed the inhabitants of his imaginary kingdom.

Then, as Leon began clearing the plates, Emil looked toward the doorway.

"Where’s Daddy? Is he back now?"

My smile softened.

"No, he’s still on the trip."

"Is he coming back?"

I brushed my fingers through his hair, choosing my words carefully.

"The grown-ups are sorting out some problems, sweetheart. Your daddy needs to talk to some people, and it might take a little while."

"Is Daddy angry at me?"

The question caught me off guard.

"Why would you think that?"

Emil shrugged, his little fingers playing with the edge of my shirt. "He goes away when he’s angry."

I glanced at Leon, who had stopped arranging the dishes speechless.

Well, you can guess who’s definitely not getting the Best Dad In The World award.

"Will you stay?" Emil asked.