Page 28 of Temptation
Their faces light up with pure joy as they skip out of the room with infectious energy. Fabrizio raises his brows, tilting his head in curiosity and amusement.
“I hope that’s okay,” I say, my voice wavering.
“Any special occasion?” he asks lightly.
“It’s just… they said they’ve never had them before,” I reply, searching his face.
“That might be right,” he muses.
“You’ve never taken them to a fast-food restaurant? A cinema? An amusement park?” I trail off, listing activities kids their age enjoy. Each suggestion hangs in the air, a reminder of the simple pleasures that fill a child’s world with joy.
“No,” he interrupts, his voice tinged with frustration. “By now, you should realize our life isn’t even close to the fairytale version of a family you’d probably imagine.” His features harden, the happiness I saw minutes ago vanishing. “But I make every effort to provide them with a safe, loving home. They want for nothing, and I love them with all my heart. That, at least, you might believe.”
Even though I know I’m overstepping, I can’t stop the words. “You're sheltering them too much. Kids need the chance to try things and make mistakes on their own, with your guidance, so they can learn how to navigate life. I can tell you're a great father and your love for them is clear. But keeping them from experiencing the world won’t—”
“You have no idea about raising two small children alone,” he snaps, his voice sharp. “I don’t need sympathy or advice from someone who doesn’t have children.” His words pierce me like daggers. Hot tears well up, streaming down my cheeks uncontrollably. Without thinking, driven by emotion, I slap him. The sting reverberates through the room, leaving tension in its wake. I back away, horrified at my behavior, while his expression remains blank. My lip quivers, my body shakes, and tears blur my vision. Fabrizio reaches out but stops midway, clenching his hand into a fist. The silence is deafening, a chasm between us. His eyes reflect a storm of emotions I can’t decipher. I can’t bear his presence. Wordlessly, I flee the room, my heart pounding and mind racing with emotion.
Sixteen
Fabrizio
The engine of the car dies down as soon as I park it in front of my house, but I remain seated for another moment.
Throughout the whole day I couldn’t shake my earlier conversation with Sienna from my mind. But no matter how often it replays in my mind, I am still torn in between wanting to put her over my knee for overstepping every possible line and feeling the need to apologize to her for doing the same.
Depending on how the rest of the day passes, I might do both.
The thought brings a smug smile to my lips as I get out of my car and walk towards the front door.
The house is wrapped in an eerie silence, a void where there is usually a racket of laughter and playful screams. No screeching echoes through the halls, no peals of laughter, and no giggles bouncing off the walls. The absence of Sienna and the kids is palpable, and their usual chaotic energy is sorely missed.
Just as I decide to head upstairs to search for them, my phone vibrates insistently in my pocket. I pull it out and unlock it, only to be greeted by a barrage of images that flood the screen. Pictures of my children—sitting in the small classroom we’ve set up at home, playing and laughing in the garden, and romping around with Sienna.
The realization hits me like a sledgehammer: whoever took these pictures is on my property in order to get so close to my children.
A chill runs down my spine as I read the accompanying messages:
‘What a beautiful family.’
‘What a pity if something were to happen to them.’
The blood in my veins turns to ice, and a wave of panic surges through me, more intense than anything I’ve ever felt before. My mind races with a single, terrifying thought: my children are in danger.
Instinctively, I reach for my gun, my hand trembling with a volatile mix of fear, panic, and uncontrollable rage.
With my gun in one hand and my phone in the other, I stand frozen in the foyer, feeling an unprecedented sense of helplessness. Gathering my resolve, I take long, determined strides toward the glass door in the kitchen and swing it open with force.
“Boss, what’s wrong?” a voice calls out.
Before I can respond, a cacophony of noise and the familiar, comforting sounds of my children’s voices ring out.
“Aaaaaah!”
“Stop that, Flynn.”
My heart leaps at the sound of my children’s voices. I hastily shove my gun into the waistband of my pants as my daughter’s playful scream pierces the air.
“Daddy!” she cries, flinging herself into my arms. I kneel down to catch her, holding her tightly against my chest, the relief washing over me in waves. Behind her, Flynn bounds towards me, his face lit up with a huge, innocent smile.
