Claimed By The Mafia Don (Ariella and Asher) novel Chapter 298

ARIELLA

We decided to take a grand tour, mostly because Leon was too excited to sit still.

William, the house manager, takes us on a tour of the entire estate. Room after room, corridors that seem endless, staircases that curve and split, doors that open into spaces bigger than any home I’ve ever known. Leon’s excitement carries him through it all, his questions tumbling out one after another, his hand never leaving mine.

By the time we finish, the jet lag hits me all at once. Bone-deep exhaustion. The kind that makes even standing feel like work. Leon, on the other hand, is tired in a different way, overstimulated, frustrated, hungry in that quiet, shaky way children get when they’ve reached their limit.

So we eat together. Maria, Leon, and I. Simple food. Quiet voices. Leon barely touches his plate, his head dipping forward between bites.

Maria offers to give him a bath. I hesitate. It’s Leon’s first day in this house. In this life. I want to be here for it. I want to do this.

“You should probably go see your family,” I tell her gently. “It’s been a long time since you’ve seen them. Maybe take today and tomorrow off. You can come back the day after, when you’re refreshed.”

“Are you sure?” she asks.

“I’m sure,” I cut in softly. “We’ll probably just be sleeping off the jet lag tomorrow anyway. And I don’t know when Asher’s going to come back. He might want to spend the day with us, make us feel… at home. So really, go. We’ll see you the day after tomorrow.”

She studies my face for a moment, then nods. “Okay.”

I turn back to Leon. He’s already nodding off in his chair, eyelids fluttering, chin dipping.

“I should carry him upstairs,” I say with a smile. “Good night.”

I take Leon up to his room. And the moment I walk into his room it hits me. We are home.

Leon is home.

I prepare his bath quickly, even though he’s half-asleep and trying to negotiate his way out of it. He tells me he’s too tired. That I should let him sleep. He promises he won’t be dirty forever.

I promise a story. I promise his favourite toys. I promise everything. In the end, I get him into the bath.

And I don’t even have to read him a single story. The moment his head hits the pillow, he’s gone, just like that.

I stand there longer than I should, watching him breathe, memorising his face, his small hands curled around nothing. Hoping, irrationally, desperately that I won’t lose him.

Maybe I wasn’t as prepared to come back as I thought I was.

I hope Leon and I keep our bond. I hope he doesn’t change because of this place, this name, this world. He’s taking it all so well, and I pray that continues, that it doesn’t come hard for him later.

I turn off the lights, leave the nightlight on, and close his door quietly. Then I take a breath. And finally, I walk into our bedroom.

It’s something more complicated. Conflicting.

I’m exhausted, but I find myself touching everything. I move through the room slowly, opening drawers, tracing surfaces, trying to understand the life he lived without me. Trying to find myself in a place where I don’t yet exist.

I sit on the edge of the bed for a long time after. The mattress barely dips beneath my weight too firm, too untouched, like it hasn’t been used yet. Is it New?

I press my palms into it anyway, grounding myself, reminding myself that I am here. That this is real. That I chose this.

I slip out of my clothes slowly, methodically, like I’m afraid the room might judge me if I move too fast. I take a shower, letting the water run longer than necessary, hoping it will wash away the tightness in my chest, the ache that won’t name itself. When I come back out, the room is exactly the same. Waiting. Impersonal. Silent.

I chose one of Asher’s shirts from the closet. It smells like him, clean, sharp, unmistakable. I pull it on and crawl into bed, turning toward the side I assume is his.

The room feels so cold.

I tell myself not to read into that. Sleep comes in pieces. Thin, restless. Every sound feels too loud in a house this big. At some point, I wake to the unmistakable sound of the door opening.

I don’t move at first. I feel him before I see him. The shift in the air. The sheer presence of him in the room. Asher moves quietly, carefully, like he’s afraid of waking me.

I open my eyes when the mattress dips. He sits on the edge of the bed, shoulders heavy, elbows resting on his knees. He just sits there, breathing, like he’s collecting himself.