Chapter 2 - The Mother’s Whispers
"Please," Elena gasped, her voice barely a whisper as she rushed forward, dropping to her knees on the damp grass. "Please, Mr. Moretti. I’m so sorry. I-I lost track of Lily for just a second. I swear she didn't mean to—she doesn't know who you are!"
Alessandro did not move. He kept his arm securely around the sleeping toddler, Lily, ensuring she wouldn't fall from his chest. The contrast was stark: his massive, scarred, tattooed hand holding a fragile child in a daisy-print dress.
"Stand up, Elena," Alessandro said, his voice low and carrying the weight of a judge passing sentence.
Elena stood, her knees trembling so badly she could barely find her footing. She was a young woman, early twenties, with the tired, haunted eyes of someone who had lived through a lifetime of quiet suffering. She had been hired through a trusted agency that had serviced the Moretti family for a decade. Or so Alessandro had been told.
"How did she get out here?" Alessandro asked, his gray eyes locking onto hers.
"I was dusting the west wing library," Elena stammered, her eyes darting to her sleeping daughter. "The glass doors were unlocked. I turned my back to change the water in the bucket, and she was gone. I’ve been looking for her for ten minutes. I swear to you, Mr. Moretti, I didn't mean for her to disturb you."
"The west wing library doors are always locked," Alessandro noted coldly. "They require a key card. A card only held by me, Marco, and Carlo."
Elena’s breath hitched. "They... they were open. I thought a guard had left them unlatched."
Alessandro felt a cold spike of adrenaline. The library housed his private safe, which contained ledger sheets, routing numbers, and the identities of his overseas contacts. If those doors were unlocked, it wasn't an accident. It was an entry point.
He looked down at Lily. The little girl let out a soft, contented sigh, her tiny fingers curling tighter around the lapel of his coat. She was completely oblivious to the lethal tension stretching between her mother and the man holding her.
"Who told you to apply for a job here, Elena?" Alessandro asked, his voice dropping an octave, becoming dangerously smooth.
"Nobody! I... I needed the money. The agency sent me."
"The agency we use has a five-year waiting list for staff," Alessandro said, leaning forward. "You’ve been in this country for less than six months. Your paperwork says you’re from Sicily, but your accent is northern. Near Milan. You lie poorly, Elena. And in this house, lies are a capital offense."
Elena fell back to her knees, tears finally spilling over her lashes. "Please. Do whatever you want to me. Kill me if you have to. But please, don't hurt my baby. She’s all I have left. I'll leave. We’ll leave tonight. You’ll never see us again."
"If I wanted you dead, Elena, we wouldn't be having this conversation," Alessandro said. "But your daughter is currently sleeping on my chest. I don't like to wake sleeping children. It makes them cry, and I dislike noise. Now, tell me the truth. Who put you in my house?"
Before Elena could answer, the heavy crunch of gravel signaled Marco’s return. The security chief strode into the garden, his expression tense. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the scene: the Don of New York sitting under an oak tree with a child asleep on his chest and a weeping maid on her knees.
"Boss..." Marco started, his hand instinctively falling to his holster. "What the hell is this?"
"An security breach, Marco," Alessandro said calmly. "The west wing library doors were unlocked. Elena here claims she found them that way."
Marco’s eyes narrowed as he glared at Elena. "That's impossible. I personally checked those locks during the 08:00 sweep. They were secure."
"And yet, they weren't," Alessandro said. He carefully slid his arms under Lily, lifting her with a surprising gentleness. He stood up, the child cradled securely against his shoulder. She mumbled something in her sleep, burying her face into his neck.
Alessandro looked at Elena, then at Marco. "Take Elena to the holding room in the basement. Do not touch her. Do not question her. Just make sure she stays there. I will deal with her myself after I secure the child."
"Boss, let me take the kid," Marco offered, reaching out.
"No," Alessandro said, stepping back. "She’s comfortable. And right now, she’s the only person in this estate I’m certain isn't trying to kill me."
As Marco led a weeping Elena away, Alessandro walked back toward the mansion. The weight of the little girl in his arms felt heavier than any weapon he had ever carried. She was completely defenseless, yet she had bypassed every security system, every guard, and every wall he had built around his heart.
As he entered the grand foyer, Carlo was waiting, a look of mild surprise crossing his refined features.
"Alessandro? Whose child is that?"
"Elena’s daughter," Alessandro replied shortly. "Set up a crib in the guest room next to my study. Put two guards at the door. No one goes in or out except me."
May you like
Carlo bowed his head. "Immediately, Boss. And the mother?"
"She's in the basement," Alessandro said, his gray eyes locking onto Carlo's. "We have a leak, Carlo. A big one. And I'm going to find out who turned the faucet."
