Chapter 4 - THE MASTER SUITE
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The master suite on the fourth floor of the Moretti estate was a private fortress within a palace.
Its double doors were reinforced with solid steel cores and locked with biometric fingerprint scanners.
Dominic carried Noah in his arms as we ascended the sweeping marble staircase.
My son had wrapped his small arms tightly around Dominic’s neck, his little face buried in the soft cashmere of his father’s lapel.
I followed two steps behind, clutching the little wooden horse against my chest like a talisman.
My black maid’s apron felt heavy and humiliating against my skin, but for the first time in eleven months, I didn't feel invisible.
Dominic pushed the heavy bedroom doors open, stepping into a vast, timbered sanctuary warmed by a roaring stone hearth.
The scent of cedarwood, expensive leather, and amber filled the room—the exact same scent Dominic had carried five years ago.
He walked over to the massive king-sized bed, gently laying Noah down on the plush goose-down comforter.
Noah yawned, his eyelids growing heavy from the overwhelming emotional exhaustion of the evening.
“Is this your room, mister?” Noah asked in a sleepy mumble, kicking off his worn little canvas sneakers.
Dominic sat on the edge of the mattress, carefully pulling off Noah’s scuffed shoes and setting them neatly on the antique rug.
“It’s our room now, buddy,” Dominic whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
“You and your mom are never sleeping in a basement or a staff closet ever again.”
Noah smiled faintly, rolling onto his side and pulling a heavy velvet pillow into his small arms.
Within thirty seconds, his breathing became slow, deep, and peaceful.
Dominic sat motionless for several long minutes, just watching the gentle rise and fall of his son’s chest.
He reached out with his large, scarred hand, his fingertips barely grazing the soft curve of Noah’s cheek.
“Five years, Claire,” Dominic whispered without looking back at me.
“Five years of thinking our child was buried in an unmarked grave in Cook County.”
I stood near the foot of the bed, my arms wrapped tightly around my waist, watching the man I had never stopped loving.
“I thought you hated me, Dominic,” I choked out, the pain pouring freely from my chest.
“Your father’s men told me that you laughed when you heard I was pregnant.”
“They told me you called me an opportunistic whore who was trying to trap the heir to the family.”
Dominic turned his head sharply, his eyes flashing with a terrifying, agonizing grief.
“I went to the hospital, Claire!” he said, his voice a ragged, desperate rasp.
“I broke through my father’s guards in New York and drove nine hours through a blizzard to get to St. Jude’s!”
“When I walked into the maternity ward, Dr. Harris handed me a cold, empty bassinet and a death certificate.”
“He told me there had been an umbilical cord complication.”
“He said you had already checked out and taken a bus to California because you couldn't bear to look at me after the baby died.”
I gasped, my hand flying to my mouth in absolute horror.
The depth of the web they had spun around us was monstrous beyond comprehension.
“They staged the whole thing,” I whispered, tears streaming down my face.
“They kept us apart so you would marry the Bellini shipping fortune.”
Dominic stood up from the bed, his tall frame moving across the Persian rug until he was standing inches from me.
He didn't touch me right away; he just looked down into my face, his eyes drinking in every feature he had missed for eighteen hundred days.
He reached out, his large, warm hands gently cupping my cheeks.
His thumbs brushed away my tears with a reverent, trembling care that made my knees weak.
“I spent five years walking through this city like a dead man, Claire,” Dominic whispered, his forehead gently coming to rest against mine.
“I took the throne because my father died, but I didn't care about the money or the power.”
“I drank myself to sleep every night looking at the drawing you left on my nightstand.”
His breath was warm, smelling of dark roast coffee and peppermint, surrounding me like a protective wall.
“You’re home now,” Dominic promised, his voice vibrating against my lips.
May you like
“Both of you.”
“And anyone who tries to take you from me will have to tear this city down brick by brick.”
