The crack in the ice

Chapter 5: The Crack in the Ice

The shift started small.

Maria, with a conspiratorial wink, began leaving an extra cup of coffee next to the pot in the mornings. “For you, Bella. You look like you need it more than he does.”

The coffee was good. Strong and Italian, the way I actually liked it. It was a tiny anchor of normalcy.

A week after the “storm incident,” the routine had solidified. Mornings were chaotic with Luca. Afternoons were quiet with Sophia’s therapies or lessons. Evenings were Massimo’s brief, intense appearances, a check-in, a rule reminder, a distant nod.

He was always watching. I felt his gaze like a physical touch when I wasn’t looking. When I turned, his eyes would be elsewhere. It was a silent, unsettling game.

Then, on Thursday, Sophia got sick.

It started at lunch. She pushed her food away, her face pale. I touched her forehead. It was furnace-hot.

“I don’t feel good,” she whispered, her voice raspy.

Maria fretted. “The signore is in a meeting across town. He does not like to be disturbed.”

“He’s going to be disturbed,” I said, already scooping Sophia up. Her small body was limp against mine. “Call Marco. We need to go to the pediatrician. Now.”

Maria looked terrified but obeyed. Twenty minutes later, we were in the back of the SUV, Sophia curled on my lap, burning up. Marco drove with silent urgency.

My phone rang. A blocked number. I knew who it was.

“Yes?” I answered.

“Maria says my daughter is ill.” Massimo’s voice was clipped, all business.

“High fever. We’re almost at Dr. Chandry’s office. She’s listless.”

A beat of silence. I heard the muffled sound of him moving, a door closing. “Is she speaking?”

“Not really. She’s just… hot.”

“Put Marco on.”

I handed the phone to the front. Marco listened, grunted “yes, sir” twice, and handed it back.

“He will meet us there,” Marco said.

Dr. Chandry’s office was discreet and expensive. Sophia was seen immediately. It was a severe ear infection. “It came on fast,” the doctor said, writing a prescription. “She’ll need antibiotics and rest. Keep her hydrated.”

As the nurse administered the first dose of medicine, the door to the exam room opened.

Massimo stood there. He’d clearly come straight from his meeting; his tie was slightly loosened, his hair ruffled as if he’d run his hands through it. His eyes went straight to Sophia, who was now dozing on my lap, then to me.

“Report,” he said, the single word directed at the doctor, but his eyes stayed on us.

Dr. Chandry gave him the diagnosis. Massimo listened, his face impassive, but I saw the tension in his jaw. When the doctor finished, Massimo nodded. “See it’s done.”

The doctor left. The room was quiet, just the hum of the lights and Sophia’s shallow breathing.

Massimo walked over. He didn’t take her from me. He just stood, looking down at his sleeping daughter, his hand hovering near her head before he gently brushed her hair back from her damp forehead. The gesture was so tender it hurt to watch.

“You moved quickly,” he said, his voice low.

“It’s my job.”

“Maria said you did not hesitate. You did not call for permission. You acted.”

I looked up at him. “Was I wrong?”

He held my gaze. Something unfamiliar flickered in his eyes. Respect, maybe. “No. You were not wrong.”

He reached out then, not for Sophia, but to take the prescription slip from my hand. Our fingers brushed. His were warm. “I will have this filled. Wait here.”

He left. I sat in the quiet room, Sophia’s weight a comforting burden on my lap. The harsh, untrusting don was gone. In his place was just a worried father. The crack in the ice wasn’t just visible; I’d just stepped through it.

---

That night, the rules bent.

Sophia needed to be monitored. Her fever had to break. Maria was exhausted. Massimo dismissed her for the night.

“I will take the first watch,” he said, standing in Sophia’s doorway. He’d changed into dark sweatpants and a simple t-shirt. He looked younger, more approachable, and utterly out of place in the frilly, dimly lit room.

“You have work tomorrow,” I said. I was sitting in the rocking chair by her bed, a cool cloth in my hand.

“She is my daughter."

“I know. But you’re also… you. You need to be sharp. Let me stay. I’ll wake you if anything changes.”

He studied me, conflict warring on his face. Letting me into the vulnerability of the night watch felt like a surrender. “And if I say no?”

“Then we’ll both be tired tomorrow. But she’ll be okay either way.”

A faint, almost-smile touched his lips. It was gone in a second. “You argue with me more than anyone I employ.”

“I’m not arguing. I’m stating facts.”

He shook his head, a quiet scoff. “Very well. You have until two a.m. Then you wake me. No arguments.”

“Deal.”

He didn’t leave immediately. He walked to Sophia’s bed, kissed her forehead, and then did something that shocked me. He walked over to me, placed his hand on the back of the rocking chair, and leaned down. His face was close to mine. The cedar-and-frost scent of him surrounded me.

“Thank you,” he said, the words quiet and raw. “For today.”

Then he was gone, leaving me in the dim light with a sleeping child and a heartbeat that wouldn’t slow down.

The hours passed slowly. I checked Sophia’s temperature, coaxed sips of water into her, and watched her sleep. At one point, she woke, confused.

“Bella?”

“I’m here, piccola.”

“Where’s Papa?”

“Sleeping. He’ll see you in the morning.”

She nodded, her eyes already closing. “You smell nice,” she mumbled, and fell back asleep.

Just before two, her fever broke. The relief was immediate. She began to sweat, her breathing deepening into true, restful sleep. I was wiping her face with a fresh cloth when the door opened.

Massimo stood there, silent. He saw the change immediately.

“It broke,” I whispered.

He came in, moving to feel her forehead himself. His shoulders slumped with visible relief. “Good.” He looked at the clock. “It is past two. You should sleep.”

“I’m okay.”

“Bella.” His voice held a note of gentle command. “Go to bed. That is an order from your employer.”

I stood, my body stiff from sitting. As I passed him, he stopped me with a hand on my arm. His touch was electric.

“You are a good nanny,” he said, his eyes searching my face in the half-light.

The praise, so simple and sincere, unmoored me. “I just did what anyone would do.”

“No,” he said, his thumb brushing a faint, unexpected stroke over my wrist before he let go. “Not anyone. You.”

I escaped to the hallway, my skin buzzing where he’d touched me. In the kitchen, I got a glass of water. I was leaning against the counter, trying to calm my racing thoughts, when he walked in.

He went to the fridge, pulling out a water bottle. “You’re still up.”

“I needed water.”

He nodded, taking a long drink. We stood there in the dark kitchen, the only light from the digital clock on the stove. It felt strangely domestic. Intimate.

“She asked for you,” I said softly. “When she woke up.”

He stilled. “What did she say?”

“She asked where you were. I told her you were sleeping and would see her in the morning.” I hesitated. “She was glad I was there, but she wanted you.”

He looked down at the bottle in his hands. “I am not… an easy man to be around. Especially for them. I know this.”

“They love you. That’s all that matters to them.”

He finally looked at me. The mask was gone. In its place was a profound, weary loneliness that took my breath away. “Is it?”

Before I could answer, he set the bottle down. “Get some sleep, Bella. Tomorrow will be long.”

He walked out, leaving me alone with the echo of his vulnerability and the terrifyingrealization that the most dangerous part of this mission was no longer the man I was supposed to betray.

It was the part of me that wanted to comfort him.