And the way they all looked at each other, the silent communication that passed between them... it reminded me so much of Dad and his undercover colleagues that my stomach twisted into knots.
"Get a grip, Annie," I whisper to myself, wringing out the dishcloth with more force than necessary. "This is just a job."
But it isn't just a job, is it? Not when Raphael comes home near midnight with two dangerous-looking men. Not when I notice the slight discoloration on his knuckles, as if he'd recently washed blood from them. Not when all three men subtly checked me for signs that I might be a liability.
I move quietly around the kitchen, putting away the last of the clean dishes. Marco's dinosaur plate goes in the lower cabinet where he can reach it himself. I've already learned he likes his independence. The leftovers get covered and placed in the refrigerator. All normal, domestic tasks that feel surreal given what I suspect is happening behind that office door.
Once the kitchen is spotless, I have no more excuses to linger. I should go to the guest room as I said I would, but curiosity pulls me down the hallway toward Raphael's office. The door is solid wood, making it impossible to hear anything beyond the low murmur of male voices.
I stand there for a moment, my heart pounding. Dad would be so disappointed in me right now. He always stressed the importance of minding my own business when it came to his work. "The less you know, the safer you are," he'd say.
But Dad is gone, and I'm here in this beautiful house with its dangerous secrets, drawn to a man I've known for less than 48 hours. A man who clearly lives in a world I don't understand.
A soft sound from Marco's room pulls me from my thoughts. I quietly pad down the hallway and peek in. He's still asleep, his dark curls splayed across the pillow. The nightlight casts dinosaur-shaped shadows across his bedroom walls.
Earlier tonight, he'd woken up crying for his mother. While comforting him, I'd gently asked where his mom was.
"She went away," he'd said simply, his little face serious. "Daddy says she couldn't handle our life. But Daddy never leaves me. Never ever."
The absolute faith in his voice had made my heart ache. Whatever Raphael does, whatever dangers surround this family, his love for his son is undeniable.
I adjust Marco's blanket, smiling as he clutches his T-Rex stuffed animal tighter. Then I quietly close his door and head to the guest room.
It's a beautiful space. Simple but elegant with a queen-sized bed and an attached bathroom. Raphael showed it to me yesterday, mentioning that I could leave some clothes and toiletries herefor overnight stays. Now I'm glad I took him up on the offer, unpacking my small overnight bag earlier this evening.
After changing into sleep shorts and an oversized t-shirt, I sit on the bed, pulling my phone from the charger to check messages. Mom has texted to make sure I'm okay, and I quickly respond to reassure her.
*All good. Staying overnight. Marco's adorable.*
I hesitate, then add: *The job seems good so far. Mr. Conti is... professional.*
It's not a lie, exactly. Raphael has been nothing but appropriate with me, despite the electricity I feel whenever he's near. The attraction is entirely one-sided, I'm sure. A man like him, with his experience and position—whatever that position actually is—wouldn't look twice at a naive 21-year-old college student.
A soft knock on the door makes me jump. I quickly check that my clothes are decent before calling, "Come in."
I expect Raphael, but it's Dante who opens the door, his expression a total mystery. Up close, he's even more intimidating, though objectively handsome with his sharp features and expensive suit.
"Ms. Harper," he says, his voice smooth and cultured. "May I have a word?"
My mouth goes dry, but I nod, standing to face him. I'm suddenly very aware of my bare legs and messy hair. "Of course, Mr...?"
"Veneziano," he supplies. "Dante Veneziano."
The name registers somewhere in my memory. Veneziano Imports? I've seen their logo on wine bottles and specialty food products. It's a legitimate business, as far as I know, but there’s something else I can’t quite remember. And besides… The manstanding before me exudes authority that goes beyond importing Italian cheeses.
"I won't take much of your time," he says, remaining near the doorway. "I simply wanted to meet the person caring for Marco properly. Raphael speaks highly of you."
"I've only been working here one day," I point out, surprised.
A slight smile touches his lips. "Raphael doesn't impress easily." His eyes study me, missing nothing. "Your father was in law enforcement, I understand?"
The question feels like a test. "Yes," I answer. "He died three years ago."
"I'm sorry for your loss." His tone seems genuinely sympathetic. "What division did he work in?"
Another test. "He was undercover narcotics," I say, deciding honesty is my best approach. "I didn't know details. None of us did."
Dante nods, as if I've confirmed something for him. "And now you're in college? Studying history, Raphael mentioned?"
