3. Santino

CHAPTER 3

SANTINO

T he stack of parenting books on my nightstand keeps growing, each new title a tangible reminder of how far out of my depth I truly am. "Positive Discipline." "How to Talk So Kids Will Listen." "The Whole-Brain Child." They mock me with their cheerful covers and promise of easy answers, as if raising a traumatized six-year-old is something you can learn from a goddamn manual.

But I keep reading, keep highlighting passages and dog-earing pages, because I'll be damned if I let my own ignorance be the thing that fails Matteo. He deserves better than a guardian who's flying blind, making it up as he goes along.

He deserves better than me, if I'm being honest. But I'm all he's got, so I'll just have to figure out how to be enough.

I scrub a hand over my face, feeling the rasp of stubble against my palm. I've been burning the candle at both ends, trying to balance my responsibilities to the family with my new role as a caretaker. It's a juggling act I'm ill-equipped for, but I'm nothing if not a quick study.

A soft knock at the door pulls me from my self-flagellation. "Boss?" It's Marco, my consigliere and oldest friend. "That social worker is here again. Want me to send him away?"

I'm tempted, so tempted, to tell Marco to get rid of Shepherd, to make it clear that his meddling is no longer welcome in my home. But the memory of our last conversation stops me, the raw desperation in his voice as he pleaded with me to let him in, to accept the lifeline he was throwing.

I'm not sure I'm ready for that, to bare my soul to a virtual stranger. But I also know I can't keep going it alone, not if I want to be the guardian Matteo needs.

"No," I say at last, my voice rougher than I'd like. "Send him up. I'll deal with him."

Marco hesitates, clearly torn between his loyalty to me and his concern for my well-being. "You sure, boss? You don't owe this guy anything. If he's overstepping..."

"He's just doing his job, Marco." The words taste bitter on my tongue, but I force them out anyway. "If I want to keep custody of Matteo, I need to play nice with the powers that be. Even if that means letting Shepherd poke around a little."

Marco still looks skeptical, but he knows better than to question me when my mind's made up. "Whatever you say, boss. I'll send him up."

He slips out of the room, leaving me to compose myself before the impending confrontation. I take a deep breath, squaring my shoulders beneath the weight of my responsibilities. Then I cross to the window, staring out at the gray expanse of Lake Michigan without really seeing it.

I'm still standing there when I hear the soft click of the door opening behind me, the whisper-soft tread of expensive shoes on hardwood. I don't turn, don't acknowledge his presence, even as every nerve in my body goes taut with awareness.

"Mr. Ricci." His voice is soft, almost hesitant, a far cry from the self-assured social worker who's been haunting my waking thoughts. "Thank you for seeing me."

I let the silence stretch between us, a fragile, trembling thing. Then I turn, slowly, taking my time to let my gaze rake over him from head to toe.

He looks tired, shadows smudged beneath those whiskey-bright eyes, his usually neat hair tousled as if he's been running his fingers through it. But there's a determination in the set of his jaw, a steely resolve that tells me he's not here to back down.

Good. I always did enjoy a challenge.

"Mr. Shepherd," I say at last, letting a hint of irony color my tone. "To what do I owe the pleasure? Come to read me the riot act again?"

He winces, a flush staining the sharp line of his cheekbones. "I deserved that," he mutters, more to himself than to me. Then, louder: "I came to apologize, actually. For the way I spoke to you last time. It was...unprofessional of me, to say the least."

I raise a brow, genuinely taken aback. "An apology? From the unflappable Aaron Shepherd? Will wonders never cease."

His flush deepens, but he meets my gaze head-on, unwavering. "I'm not too proud to admit when I've overstepped," he says evenly. "And I have, with you. I let my emotions get the better of me, let my personal feelings cloud my judgment. It won't happen again."

I'm not sure how to respond to that, to the raw honesty in his voice. I'm used to people trying to manipulate me, to flatter and deceive in the hopes of getting what they want. But Shepherd...he's unlike anyone I've ever met, in my world or out of it.

It's unsettling. And intriguing, if I'm being honest with myself.

"Personal feelings?" I drawl, seizing on the opening. "Why, Mr. Shepherd, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were developing a bit of a crush."

His eyes flash, a spark of heat that sends a thrill down my spine. "Don't flatter yourself, Mr. Ricci. My only interest is in making sure Matteo is safe and well-cared for. Speaking of which, how is he adjusting? I'd like to speak with him, if you don't mind."

The abrupt change of subject throws me, but I roll with it, gesturing for him to follow me out of the room. "He's doing as well as can be expected, given the circumstances. We've settled into a bit of a routine - breakfast together, then some educational activities with the nanny. Playtime in the afternoons, quiet time before bed. I'm trying to keep things as stable and predictable as possible."

Shepherd looks pleasantly surprised, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "That's...actually really good, Mr. Ricci. Structure and consistency are so important for children, especially those who have experienced trauma. I'm glad to hear you're prioritizing that."

The note of approval in his voice shouldn't matter to me, shouldn't send a warm glow of satisfaction unfurling in my chest. But damn me, it does.

We find Matteo in the playroom, happily assembling a giant floor puzzle with his nanny, a sweet-faced older woman named Giulia. He looks up as we enter, his face lighting up with a sunny smile that never fails to melt my heart.

"Uncle Santino! Mr. Aaron!" He scrambles to his feet, launching himself at me with the boundless enthusiasm of the very young. I catch him easily, swinging him up into my arms and burying my nose in his soft, baby-fine hair.

"Hey there, cucciolo," I murmur, the old endearment falling from my lips without thought. "You having a good day?"

He nods eagerly, his little arms winding around my neck. "Uh-huh! Giulia's been helping me with my numbers, and we had grilled cheese for lunch, and now we're doing puzzles!"

I smile, pressing a kiss to his temple. "That sounds amazing, kiddo. I'm so proud of you for being such a good boy."

He beams at the praise, then wriggles to be let down, already reaching for Shepherd. "Will you do a puzzle with me, Mr. Aaron? Please?"

Shepherd looks startled, but he recovers quickly, dropping to a crouch so he's at Matteo's eye level. "I'd love to, Matteo. Why don't you show me which one you want to do?"

As I watch them together, heads bent over the scattered puzzle pieces, I feel something ease in my chest, a knot of tension I didn't even realize I was carrying. Seeing Matteo so at ease with Shepherd, so trusting...it feels right, in a way I'm not ready to examine too closely.

Giulia catches my eye, a knowing look on her weathered face. "He's good with him," she says softly, nodding towards Shepherd. "Patient. Kind. The little one needs that, after everything he's been through."

I nod, not trusting my voice. She's right, of course. Matteo needs all the love and support he can get, from wherever he can get it. Even if that means letting Shepherd into our lives, into the carefully constructed walls I've spent a lifetime building.

The thought is terrifying. But also strangely exhilarating, like standing on the edge of a cliff and finally letting yourself imagine what it might be like to fly.

Lost in my own thoughts, I don't realize how much time has passed until Shepherd straightens up, brushing off his hands on his slacks. "I should get going," he says, something almost regretful in his tone. "I have a mountain of paperwork waiting for me back at the office."

Matteo's face falls, his lower lip wobbling dangerously. "Do you have to? We were having fun!"

Shepherd ruffles his hair, a fond smile tugging at his mouth. "I know, buddy. But I'll come back soon, okay? In the meantime, you keep being the awesome kid you are. Deal?"

Matteo considers this, his brow furrowed in concentration. Then he nods, sticking out a small hand for Shepherd to shake. "Deal."

Shepherd laughs, the sound warm and rich, and something in my chest clenches at the easy affection between them. He really is good with Matteo, better than I could have hoped for. The realization is both galling and oddly comforting, a dichotomy I'm still struggling to wrap my head around.

I walk him to the door, acutely aware of the heat of his body beside mine, the clean scent of his cologne. It's been a long time since I've let myself be affected by someone this way, let myself want something beyond the next power play, the next conquest.

It's dangerous, this pull he has on me. But I'm starting to think that maybe, just maybe, it might be worth the risk.

At the door, Shepherd hesitates, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "Santino..."

The use of my first name sends a bolt of heat straight to my core, intimate in a way I'm not prepared for. I hold my breath, waiting for him to continue.

But he just shakes his head, a wry twist to his mouth. "Never mind. I'll see you soon, okay? Keep up the good work with Matteo."

He turns to go, and I'm seized by a sudden, desperate need to keep him here, to hold onto this fragile connection for just a little longer. Without thinking, I reach out and catch his wrist, my fingers circling the delicate bones like shackles.

He stills, his eyes flying up to meet mine. I can feel his pulse pounding beneath my fingertips, the rush of his blood, the heat of his skin. It's intoxicating, this power I have over him, even as I'm acutely aware of the power he holds over me.

"Aaron," I say, my voice low and rough. "I...thank you. For everything you're doing for Matteo. For giving me a chance to prove myself." The words feel strange on my tongue, rusty with disuse. I'm not used to showing gratitude, to admitting that I need anyone or anything.

But with him, with this man who's seen me at my worst and still looks at me like I'm something worth saving...it feels right. Necessary, even.

He swallows hard, his gaze dropping to where my hand still encircles his wrist. "I'm just doing my job, Santino. You're the one who's putting in the work, who's fighting for your nephew."

I take a step closer, drawn to him like a moth to a flame. "Am I?" I murmur, my breath ghosting over his cheek. "Fighting for him? Or for something else entirely?"

His breath catches, his eyes flickering up to meet mine. There's heat there, and hunger, and a yearning so intense it steals the breath from my lungs. "Santino..."

And then I'm kissing him, my mouth slanting over his with a desperation that borders on violence. He makes a soft, surprised noise against my lips, but then he's kissing me back, his free hand fisting in the front of my shirt, hauling me closer.

I pour everything I am into that kiss, all the fear and longing and desperate, aching need. He meets me stroke for stroke, his lips parting on a gasp as I lick into his mouth, tasting him, claiming him. It's electric, incendiary, a conflagration that threatens to consume us both.

I want to devour him, to strip him bare and lay him out on my bed, to take him apart piece by piece until he's begging for mercy, for release. I want to lose myself in the heat of his body, the clasp of his thighs around my hips, the broken sounds he makes as I drive into him again and again.

I want...god, I want everything. And that's what finally breaks me out of the spell, what has me tearing my mouth away from his with a ragged gasp.

I can't do this. I can't let myself have this, have him. It's too dangerous, too risky. Not just for me, but for Matteo. If I let myself get attached, let myself care for someone the way I'm beginning to care for Aaron...it could destroy everything I've worked so hard to build. Everything I am.

"I'm sorry," I rasp, stumbling back a step, then two. "I shouldn't have done that. It was a mistake."

He looks dazed, his lips kiss-swollen and his eyes glazed with desire. "Santino, wait..."

But I'm already turning away, my heart pounding and my hands shaking with the force of my restraint. "Goodbye, Aaron. I'll be in touch about Matteo's case."

And then I'm striding down the hall, putting as much distance between us as I can, even as every fiber of my being screams at me to go back, to pull him into my arms and never let go.

But I can't. I won't. For Matteo's sake, for my own...I have to be strong. I have to resist this pull, this magnetism that threatens to upend everything I've ever known.

Even if it kills me.