Page 67 of Dangerous Deception

She’s quickly and unexpectedly become the most important person in my life, so if I have to play the long game with her fucking father, I will.

“Raffaele?”

Hearing her call to me makes adoration swell in my chest. I turn away from the dazzling skyline and walk back inside. Adelina is at the top of the stairs in a silky negligee with her damp hair hanging in curls around her face.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Come to bed with me?”

I am powerless to resist.

Taking the stairs two at a time, I wrap my arms around her and soak up the lingering warmth from the bath. “Do you feel better?”

“Much.” She yawns widely. “I’m so tired, but I’m excited to get back into my art.”

“Worry about that tomorrow,” I say, kissing her brow. “Tonight, just rest.”

Adelina cups my jaw with one hand, staring up into my eyes as she caresses my cheek with her thumb. “You’ll stay with me, right?”

“Of course.” I’m not sure why she feels the need to ask. Maybe it’s because we’re back in New York, and things already feel different, but if she needs assurance, I will give it.

We collapse into bed together, and the exhaustion from worry, travel, and the flight catches up with us instantly. Adelina’s barely cuddled into my arms before we fall deeply asleep.

I wake at six in the morning to a text from Vito.

The manor has been attacked.

27

ADELINA

“Then you take your brush and dip it into the paint?—”

“How much paint?” pipes up one child, holding her brush aloft.

“As much paint as you want.”

“As much paint?” she gapes, then she turns her eyes to the child next to her. “Frank, that’s too much paint!”

“No!” he declares with a wicked cackle. “It’s notenoughpaint!”

“Frank!”

“More paint!” With comical timing, Frank scoops up as much paint as he can hold in his two hands and slaps it onto the paper in front of him, much to Kelly’s utter shock.

Several other children burst into giggles around the room, and the smile that pulls across my face is the warmest I’ve smiled in months.

“Miss?” Another child appears at my elbow with a broken paintbrush dangling pathetically from his fingers. “I think my brush is broken.”

Laughing, I take his hand and slowly lead him toward the art supply trolley. “That’s okay, David. We can pick out another one.”

In this room, away from the medication, the machines, needles, and doctors, every single child is exactly that. A child. The IV lines don’t exist, no one feels their baldness or frail limbs, no one thinks about when the next time someone is going to demand more tests, and no one worries about seeing their parents cry in the hallway.

In this room, sickness stays at the door.

Being back here is overwhelming but in the most rewarding way. A few of the children I used to paint with have moved on. Two have sadly passed away, and one recovered enough to go home. It breaks my heart a little bit, but seeing a sea of faces over the moon for me to be back makes it all worth it. Even Caterina can’t keep a smile off her face when the children run up to her with their paintings or questions about her tattoos.

I have a meeting later with someone from the board, and it blows my mind how Raffaele set that up so quickly. I’d only told him my idea a day or two ago, and already, he’s set things in motion.

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