Chapter 2
The east wing of the Moretti estate was a realm reserved exclusively for family and high-ranking guests. Moving from the damp, windowless basement quarters into a three-room suite featuring heated hardwood floors, plush velvet sofas, and a balcony overlooking the snow-draped gardens felt like stepping into an alternate reality for Sophia.
That evening, as the blizzard howled outside the high stained-glass windows, Sophia sat on the edge of the large king-sized bed, drying Emma's curls with a towel.
"Mommy, can Bruno sleep with us?" Emma asked, clutching her ratty teddy bear, Barnaby.
"No, sweetie," Sophia sighed, kissing the top of her daughter's head. "Bruno belongs to Mr. Moretti. He's a very important dog for a very powerful man."
"He liked Barnaby," Emma insisted stubbornly. "He sniffed his ear."
Sophia looked toward the heavy oak door of their new suite. On the other side of that door stood two armed guards in dark suits. While Alessandro Moretti had granted them luxury, Sophia knew better than to relax. In the four months she had worked at the mansion, she had learned enough through whispered kitchen gossip to know that the Moretti family operated in the lethal shadows of Chicago’s organized crime world.
A soft knock interrupted her thoughts.
Sophia froze. She stood up slowly, ushering Emma behind her legs, before walking over to open the heavy door.
Alessandro stood in the corridor. He had discarded his formal suit jacket and now wore a dark charcoal sweater with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, revealing forearm tattoos of intricate crests and latin script. Standing right beside his left knee was Bruno.
"Mr. Moretti," Sophia breathed, her hands knotting in the fabric of her simple dress.
"He wouldn't eat his dinner," Alessandro said plainly. He didn't wait for an invitation; he stepped into the suite. Bruno immediately trotted past Sophia, heading straight for Emma, who let out a joyful squeal and threw her small arms around the massive dog's neck. Bruno leaned into the hug, making a low rumbling sound in his chest that sounded suspiciously like a purr.
Alessandro watched the interaction, a strange shadow passing across his handsome face.
"He usually eats at eight," Alessandro murmured, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "Tonight he sat by the stairs and whined until I brought him up here."
"I can tell him to go down if he's bothering you, sir," Sophia said quickly.
"He isn't bothering me. He's bothering himself," Alessandro replied, his dark eyes shifting from the dog to Sophia. He observed her cautious posture, the way she kept her space, the subtle tremor in her hands. "You're afraid of me."
Sophia swallowed hard. "You are the boss of this house, Mr. Moretti. Everyone is careful around you."
"There is a difference between being careful and being terrified," Alessandro noted quietly. He took a step toward her, and though he moved with absolute gentleness, his towering height still dominated the room. "You came here four months ago from a women's shelter in Indiana. Your background check showed no criminal record, no ties to rival families. Just a young mother trying to disappear."
Sophia’s breath caught in her throat. Her heart hammered wildly against her ribs. "You searched my background?"
"I search the background of everyone who breathes the air in this house," Alessandro said smoothly. "Including the maids. But I didn't look at the details until today. Who were you running from, Sophia?"
Sophia lowered her eyes, her fingernails digging into her palms. The memories burned like acid—the sound of heavy boots on stairs, the smell of cheap bourbon, the bruises hidden under long sleeves, and the terrifying night she had snatched Emma from her crib and run into the rain to escape Julian Vance, a low-level loan shark with a violent streak and dangerous connections.
"Nobody who matters to a man like you, Mr. Moretti," Sophia whispered.
"If he drove you to seek refuge in my house, he matters," Alessandro countered, his voice dripping with an implicit, dangerous promise. "Because nobody touches what belongs under my roof."
Before Sophia could digest the weight of those words, a sharp knock sounded at the open suite door. Marco stepped into the entry hall, his expression dead serious.
"Boss," Marco said, his voice clipped. "We have a problem at the South Side docks. The Russian shipment came in early, and Andrei Volkov is demanding you meet him personally. He brought twelve armed men."
Alessandro’s demeanor shifted instantly. The quiet, contemplative man vanished, replaced by the icy, ruthless mafia kingpin. His eyes hardened like cold steel.
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"Tell the men to prep the SUVs," Alessandro ordered flatly. He turned to leave, but as he reached the threshold, he paused and glanced back at Bruno, who was comfortably stretched out on the rug while Emma read him a picture book.
"Leave the dog here," Alessandro told Marco. "He's on duty."
