2. Aaron

CHAPTER 2

AARON

T he glare of my laptop screen is the only light in my cramped office, the susurrus of the evening cleaning crew the only sound beyond the hum of the HVAC. It's late, far later than I usually stay at work, but the Ricci case is proving more complicated than I anticipated.

I've spent hours combing through the scant information available on the family, trying to piece together a clear picture of the world Matteo would be entering if he remains in his uncle's care. What I've found is far from reassuring.

Santino Ricci, age 37. Suspected ties to organized crime, though nothing's ever been proven in court. A trail of whispered rumors and cold cases that never quite lead back to his door. A man feared and respected in equal measure, with a reputation for ruthless efficiency and a temper that flares hot and bright as a magnesium flare.

And yet, when I think back to our meeting this morning, it's not the icy arrogance of a mob boss that lingers in my mind. It's the flash of raw grief in dark eyes, hastily masked. The way his voice softened, ever so slightly, when he spoke to Matteo. The edge of desperation that crept in when he admitted his doubts about his ability to care for a child.

Santino Ricci is a walking contradiction, and trying to unravel the truth of him is giving me a tension headache. I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh, wondering for the thousandth time if I'm in over my head with this case.

A knock at the door startles me out of my brooding thoughts. I look up to see my best friend and fellow social worker, Logan, leaning against the doorframe with a knowing grin.

"Burning the midnight oil again, Shep?" he asks, inviting himself into my office and plopping down in the chair across from my desk. "I thought we talked about this whole 'work-life balance' thing."

I scowl half-heartedly at him, no real heat behind it. Logan's known me long enough to see right through my grumpy facade. "This case is...complicated," I hedge, not quite ready to put my swirling thoughts into words. "I'm just trying to get a handle on all the variables."

Logan's grin softens into something more sympathetic. "The Ricci kid, right? I heard about what happened to his folks. Poor little guy."

I nod, scrubbing a hand over my face. "It's a tragedy, no doubt about it. But what I'm worried about now is making sure Matteo ends up in the best possible situation going forward. And his uncle...let's just say he comes with some baggage."

Logan's eyebrows climb toward his hairline. "Baggage like..." He makes a vague gesture that could mean anything from 'unpaid parking tickets' to 'bodies in the basement.'

I snort. "More like the 'known associate of the Cosa Nostra' variety. Santino Ricci's got a reputation that would make Al Capone sit up and take notes."

Logan lets out a low whistle. "Damn. And this guy wants to take on raising a kid? Sounds like a recipe for disaster."

I make a noncommittal noise, ambivalence twisting in my gut. "You'd think so, wouldn't you? But when I saw him with Matteo...Logan, there's more to him than just the rap sheet. He loves that boy, even if he's got no clue how to show it in a healthy way."

Logan's quiet for a long moment, studying me with an intensity that makes me want to squirm in my seat. "Aaron," he says at last, his tone gentler than I'm used to hearing from him. "I know you've got a big heart, and you want to see the best in people. But some guys...some guys are just bad news, no matter how much you want to fix them."

The words send a strange little pang through my chest, though I'm not entirely sure why. "I'm not trying to fix anyone," I mutter, dropping my gaze to the scatter of papers on my desk. "I'm just trying to do my job."

Logan sighs, shaking his head. "Look, all I'm saying is be careful, okay? Don't go catching feelings for a mobster just because he's got a cute kid and a tragic past. You're too smart for that."

I sputter, heat rushing to my cheeks. "I'm not - it's not like that!" I protest, hating the defensive edge that creeps into my voice. "Santino Ricci is a client, nothing more. I'm just trying to get a read on him so I can make the best recommendation for Matteo's placement."

Logan holds up his hands in a gesture of surrender, but there's a knowing glint in his eye that tells me he's not buying my denial. "Whatever you say, Shep. Just remember, I'm here if you need to talk. And I've always got room on my couch if you need a place to crash after pissing off the mob."

I flip him off, but I can't help the wry smile that tugs at my lips. "Duly noted. Now get out of here and let me angst in peace, will you?"

Logan sketches a mocking salute and levers himself out of the chair. "Sir, yes sir. I'll leave you to your brooding and your bad decisions."

He ducks out of the office before I can find something to throw at him, his laughter trailing behind him down the hall. I slump back in my seat, all the anxious energy bleeding out of me in a rush.

Logan's not wrong, loathe as I am to admit it. Santino Ricci is dangerous, in more ways than one. The smart thing to do would be to keep my head down, do my job, and wash my hands of the whole situation as soon as humanly possible.

But when have I ever done the smart thing when a kid's well-being is on the line?

I groan, scrubbing my hands over my face. Tomorrow I'll go back to the Ricci mansion, get some more face time with Santino and Matteo. Try to figure out if there's a path forward that doesn't end in disaster for everyone involved.

And if my pulse kicks up a notch at the thought of seeing Santino again, of matching wits with that razor-sharp mind, of proving to him and to myself that I'm not just some naive do-gooder in over his head...

Well. No one needs to know that but me.

The Ricci mansion is just as imposing the second time around, all sleek lines and cold elegance against the steel gray of the Chicago sky. I take a deep breath before ringing the bell, bracing myself for another round of verbal sparring with the immovable object that is Santino Ricci.

To my surprise, it's not Santino who answers the door, but a smiling older woman in a neat maid's uniform. She welcomes me in and leads me to a cozy living room, where Matteo is sprawled on the plush carpet with an elaborate train set, his cheeks flushed with happiness as he makes 'choo choo' noises.

My heart melts a little at the sight of him, a world away from the shell-shocked child I met just yesterday. Kids are so resilient, bouncing back from tragedy with an ease that never fails to amaze me.

"Ah, Mr. Shepherd. Prompt as ever, I see."

The smooth, faintly accented voice sends a shiver down my spine, even as I steel myself against the unwelcome thrill of it. I turn to see Santino Ricci lounging in the doorway, dressed more casually than yesterday in a black cashmere sweater and well-worn jeans that only serve to highlight the lean, predatory lines of his body.

I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry as I meet that piercing gaze. "Mr. Ricci. I told you I'd be back to check on Matteo's adjustment. I keep my word."

Santino inclines his head, something like approval flashing in his eyes. He pushes off the doorframe with fluid grace and crosses the room to kneel on the carpet beside Matteo, murmuring something in Italian that makes the boy giggle and lean into his uncle's side.

I watch the easy affection between them, the way Santino's face softens as he ruffles Matteo's hair. There's a tenderness there, beneath the hard edges and the arrogant facade. A tenderness I suspect he doesn't let many people see.

"He seems to be settling in well," I observe, fighting to keep my tone neutral. "Routines are important at his age, a sense of safety and stability. It's good that you're making time to just be with him, away from...whatever it is you do."

Santino's gaze sharpens, his head cocked like a bird of prey sighting a mouse in the underbrush. "And what is it you think I do, Mr. Shepherd?" he asks silkily, danger and challenge woven through every word. "Since you seem to have formed some very definite opinions on the matter."

I meet his stare head-on, refusing to be cowed. "I think you're a man with a lot of secrets, Mr. Ricci. Secrets that have no place in a child's life. If you want Matteo to thrive, you're going to have to make some changes. Big ones."

Santino's on his feet in a heartbeat, looming into my personal space with a speed that leaves me breathless. This close, I can feel the heat of him, the coiled strength barely leashed beneath his skin. It's electrifying and terrifying in equal measure.

"You overstep, Mr. Shepherd," he grits out, his eyes blazing black fire. "You come into my home, passing judgment on things you don't understand. You have no idea what I would do for that boy, what I've already done-"

"Then tell me!" I cut him off, my own temper flaring to meet his. "Make me understand, Santino. Because from where I'm standing, all I see is a man too proud to admit he needs help, too stubborn to do what's best for his nephew."

We're practically nose to nose now, breathing hard, the air between us crackling with tension. I can see the war raging behind his eyes, the desperate need to lash out, to put me in my place warring with something rawer, more vulnerable.

"I...I can't," he says at last, the words wrenched from somewhere deep in his chest. "My world, the things I've done...you don't know what you're asking."

The anguish in his voice cuts me like a blade, even as my heart clenches with a fierce protectiveness. "Then help me understand," I plead, gentling my tone. "Matteo needs you, Santino. And I think...I think you need him too. Don't let your pride destroy the one good thing you have left."

For a single, suspended moment, I think I've gotten through to him. Something flickers in the depths of those onyx eyes, a hairline fracture in the impenetrable armor he wears like a second skin.

Then it's gone, shuttered away behind a mask of cold, unyielding control. He steps back, putting distance between us, and I feel the loss of his heat like a physical ache.

"I think you should go, Mr. Shepherd," he says tightly, his gaze fixed on a point just over my shoulder. "I have things well in hand here. Matteo is safe, he's cared for. That's all you need to concern yourself with."

I open my mouth to argue, to push back against the walls I can see him frantically reinforcing. But something in the rigid set of his jaw, the white-knuckled clench of his fists at his sides, stops me. Pushing him further now will only make him shut down completely, retreating behind that impenetrable facade.

And if that happens, I'll lose any chance I might have had of getting through to the man beneath the monster.

"Okay," I say softly, hating the defeat in my voice. "I'll go. But this isn't over, Santino. I'm not giving up on you, or on Matteo. Sooner or later, you're going to have to let someone in."

He doesn't respond, doesn't so much as twitch as I gather my coat and my bag. I cast one last look at Matteo, happily oblivious to the tension crackling in the air above his head, and I feel my resolve harden into something diamond-bright, unbreakable.

I will keep this child safe. I will find a way to give him the life he deserves, even if it means dragging Santino Ricci kicking and screaming into the light. No matter what it takes, no matter what the cost to myself.

I'm almost to the door when Santino's voice stops me, so soft I almost think I've imagined it. "Aaron."

My name on his lips sends a shiver down my spine, intimate in a way I'm not prepared for. I turn slowly, half-afraid of what I'll see in his eyes.

But he's not looking at me at all. His gaze is fixed on Matteo, something fierce and desperate etched into every line of his face. "I'm trying," he says hoarsely, the words scraped raw. "I swear to you, I'm trying."

And then I'm out the door, my heart pounding like a war drum in my chest, my head spinning with confusion and yearning and a wild, desperate hope.

Santino Ricci is trying. For Matteo, for himself...maybe even for me.

It's not much. But it's a start.

As I climb into my car and pull away from the curb, I realize my hands are shaking on the wheel, my breath coming fast and shallow.

What the hell am I doing? Getting emotionally invested in a case is a cardinal sin in my line of work, a one-way ticket to burnout and heartbreak. And yet here I am, tying myself in knots over a man with more red flags than a communist parade.

A man who makes me feel more alive than I have in years, even as he scares me half to death.

I think of the way Santino looked at Matteo, the fierce, protective love that even he couldn't fully hide. The way his eyes burned into mine as we argued, heat and anger and something far more dangerous crackling between us like lightning looking for a place to ground.

I'm playing with fire, and I know it. Santino Ricci could destroy me a hundred different ways, could ruin everything I've worked so hard to build.

But god help me, I can't make myself walk away. Not when every instinct is screaming at me to run towards the flames, to let them consume me whole.

Heaven help us both.