Little Game

Chapter 33

"Daaad..." Isabella whined as Dante tucked his little daughter to bed with a soft smile on his face. "You don't haf'ta always tuck me in. You're busy and got lots of work to do."

"Now you hush, Bella. I like tucking you in. I enjoy it, and busy or not, I'll always make time for you. You should know that by now." He booped her nose before brushing some strands of her hair to the side. He's got his fond look plastered on his face as he pats his daughter's stomach in a lulling movement that he always did for as long as she could remember.

She snuggled with the bear that had always been with her ever since she was a baby and pouted at her father. "But, I'm getting ooold. I'm not five anymore. What if I'm old enough that you won't tuck me in anymore?"

She doesn't want that. Isabella still wants Dante to tuck her in every night because that's the only time that they could chat for hours if she doesn't want to sleep. That's the only time where Dante isn't busy with work.

He chuckled before leaning down to kiss her forehead lovingly. "Even if you're five or eighty, baby, I'll still tuck you in and I'll sing you whatever lullaby you want and give you goodnight kisses." He said, unembarrassed and unfazed by his mushy words. He actually even looked proud of what he said.

Isabella felt warmth spreading all around her. She'd like that. She'd like that very much. "Thank you, papa." She whispered, audible enough for her father to hear.

Dante beamed at her before grabbing her hand to kiss the back of it. "I'll always protect you, cariño. Whatever it takes. I promised you that, didn't I?"

(Sweetheart.)

Isabella nodded. "I don't care whose who, I'll kill anyone who gets close to the pack." She repeated her father's words, remembering exactly what he said. He always said it, to be honest. No matter if it was Anthony or Elois he was talking to, he'll say it to his family. It was a vow, a promise that a leader made to its pack and it's obvious that he'll chose to die than breaking that promise.

"And what are we?" He asks, brushing her knuckles with his thumb.

She beamed at him. "A pack. We're a pack." She said like it was a quiz question that she knows by heart. Which she does know by heart, if she were to be honest with herself.

He ruffled her hair, causing her to grumble. Everyone likes to ruffle her hair because it was always clean and well-brushed so they like to dirty it a bit.

Isabella doesn't appreciate it.

"Papa, no, stop." She gently swatted her father's hand away like she always does, causing him to chuckle, like he always does. It has become a habit, to be honest. To ruffle her hair while she was getting tucked in, to do this simple talking, to act like everything is normal even though she knows that her family business is anything but that, to act as if she doesn't have three bodyguards because everyone she doesn't know can potentially be her killer one day.

It's not hard to act, it's normal because it's her life. She's living in a dollhouse where everything is perfect, and whatever she wants is she will get with just a word.

And, it's fine.

"You know that you'll always be my little girl, right?"

Isabella nodded. She'll always be, whether she likes it or not. She looks at the fond look on her father's face, the lulling patting of his hand on her, the soft tone he always uses whenever he's with her. She's as if she's fragile, something that should be kept in a secure spot, seen by everyone but cannot be touched.

"I know, papa." Isabella replied solemnly.

"That's my good girl." He answered, kissing her forehead again. "You're always being so good to us, sweetheart. You keep being good, okay?"