Chapter 1 - The Echo of a Ghost
The room was suspended in an absolute, suffocating silence. Outside, the autumn rain slashed against the high arched windows of the West Wing, but inside, the only sound was the shallow, ragged breathing of Silana Moretti.
Dominic’s weapon lowered an inch, his eyes darting from his boss’s stricken face down to the baby sitting on the blood-flecked rug. Lorenzo, bleeding on his knees, forgot his impending death for a split second, staring in stunned bewilderment at the infant who had waddled into the lion’s den.
Leo gurgled again, completely unfazed by the tension. He reached out with both chubby hands toward the brass pen holder on Silana’s mahogany desk, his tiny fingers grasping at the air.
"Matteo..." Silana whispered again. The name ripped from his throat like a jagged shard of glass.
He didn't move. The man who had faced down rival cartels, federal indictments, and street wars without blinking was entirely paralyzed. His dark eyes, usually cold and unreadable, overflowed with an agonizing mixture of grief and shock. The curls, the deep brown eyes, the faint dimple on the baby's left cheek—it was a ghost made flesh. It was the exact image of his son, lost three years ago to the fire and steel of a car bomb.
Then, the heavy oak door was kicked open wider.
Bella burst into the room. She didn't look at Dominic’s drawn gun. She didn't look at the blood on the floor. Her face was as pale as death, her eyes wild with a mother’s primal terror. She dropped to her knees right in front of Silana’s desk and scooped Leo into her arms, pulling him tightly against her chest.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, Mr. Moretti!" Bella sobbed, her voice trembling violently. She buried her face in Leo’s soft hair, using her body as a human shield to cover her child. "Please, don't hurt him! He didn't mean to—he just crawled out—please, God, take me, just don't hurt my baby!"
Dominic stepped forward, his expression hardening as the initial shock wore off. "Who the hell are you? How did a kid get into the West Wing?"
"I'm... I'm Bella. I work in domestic... third floor," she stammered, tears streaming down her raw, bleach-stained cheeks. "Please, Mr. Moretti. I'll leave. I'll go right now and you'll never see us again. Just let us walk out."
Silana slowly rounded his desk. His boots made heavy, deliberate sounds on the hard oak border of the Persian rug. Bella squeezed her eyes shut, pulling Leo closer, waiting for the cold press of steel against her neck.
Instead, the shadow of the Don fell over her, and a large, calloused hand reached out.
Silana didn't touch Bella. His long, steady fingers reached down and lightly touched a lock of Leo’s dark, curly hair. The touch was so delicate, so impossibly gentle, it felt completely out of place in a room that smelled of gunpowder and copper.
"Whose child is this?" Silana’s voice was low, deep, and laced with a terrifying quietude.
Bella swallowed hard, her throat feeling like sand. She couldn't tell him the truth. If Silana found out Leo was the son of David Miller—the man who had embezzled fifty thousand dollars from his organization—both she and her baby would be buried beneath the concrete of the Chicago docks before nightfall.
"He's mine," Bella whispered truthfully. "Just mine."
"His father?" Silana demanded, his eyes never leaving the baby’s face.
"He... he abandoned us before he was born," she lied, her voice cracking. "I have no one else. I just needed work to buy him milk. Please, Mr. Moretti..."
Silana stared at Leo for a long, agonizing moment. The child, completely unaware of the threat, reached up and grabbed Silana’s index finger with his tiny hand. Silana froze. He looked down at the tiny fingers wrapped around his own, and a subtle, painful shiver ran through his broad shoulders.
"Dominic," Silana commanded without breaking eye contact with the child.
"Boss?"
"Take Lorenzo down to the cellar. Lock him up. We will finish our conversation later."
Lorenzo gasped in relief as Dominic dragged him to his feet and shoved him out of the room. The heavy oak door clicked shut, leaving only the Don, the terrified maid, and the innocent child in the heavy quiet of the office.
Silana slowly knelt down on one knee, bringing himself level with Bella and her baby.
"You broke the cardinal rule of this house," Silana said quietly. "You brought a child into my home."
"I had nowhere else to put him today—the inspections—"
"Quiet," Silana cut her off, though there was no malice in his tone—only a deep, haunting gravity. "You will not leave this estate, Bella."
Bella’s heart sank into her stomach. "Mr. Moretti, please—"
"You and the boy will move into the east guest suite," Silana ordered, standing back up to his full, imposing height. "You will no longer scrub floors. You will remain here, where I can see him."
Bella looked at him in total bewilderment. "Why?"
May you like
Silana turned his back to her, stepping toward the high rain-streaked window, staring out into the dark gardens.
"Because," Silana whispered softly into the glass, "he carries my son's face. And I will not let him out of my sight."
