Chapter 4 - THE MASTER'S ROOF
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Maisie sat in the massive, gold-leafed armchair, looking like a little doll swallowed by velvet and carved mahogany.
She nibbled on the warm brioche roll, her small feet dangling six inches above the Persian rug.
For the first time all evening, the terror in her brown eyes had been replaced by innocent wonder.
I stood beside her chair, still clutching my silver serving tray like a useless shield.
“Mr. Moretti,” I began, my voice trembling with exhaustion and anxiety.
“I need to take Maisie home.”
“Her bedtime was an hour ago, and the buses to Humboldt Park stop running at eleven.”
Dominic didn't look at me immediately.
He was watching Maisie eat, his gaze tracing the curve of her cheek, the shape of her nose, and the dark curls of her hair.
He was searching for his own reflection in her features—and he was finding it.
She had his stubborn chin.
She had the exact shade of dark hazel eyes that his late mother had possessed.
“You are not taking a bus tonight, Claire,” Dominic said quietly, finally turning his gaze to me.
“And you are not going back to Humboldt Park.”
A cold spike of panic shot through my chest.
“Mr. Moretti, please,” I pleaded, taking a step closer to Maisie.
“I know this is a shock to you.”
“I know she carries your blood.”
“But I am her legal mother.”
“I went through eighteen months of court hearings, background checks, and home inspections to adopt her.”
“The state granted me full, permanent parental custody.”
“You cannot simply take her from me because of your wealth.”
Dominic blinked, a look of mild surprise crossing his severe features, followed immediately by quiet respect.
He stepped closer, close enough that I could smell the faint scent of cedarwood, expensive tobacco, and clean rain on his lapel.
“Do you truly believe I would take a child away from the woman who saved her life?” Dominic asked, his deep voice thick with emotion.
I hesitated, my breath catching in my throat.
“I... I don't know what you’re capable of, sir,” I admitted honestly.
“Everyone in this city knows who Dominic Moretti is.”
“They know you control the docks.”
“They know you run the syndicates.”
“Men whisper your name when they talk about power and violence.”
Dominic let out a low, tired breath, running a hand through his dark hair.
“The men who whisper my name are criminals and thieves, Claire,” he said, looking straight into my eyes.
“I am ruthless to those who try to burn down what my family built.”
“But I do not wage war against innocent women who sacrifice everything to protect children.”
He reached out, his warm, calloused fingers gently touching the worn cotton of my apron.
“You earned forty-five thousand dollars a year as a nurse’s assistant, yet you took in a child with no name and gave her a future.”
“You scrubbed my floors on your hands and knees while Vanessa spent my money on designer dresses.”
“You showed more honor than every billionaire who sat at this table tonight.”
He turned toward the doorway, where Marco had just reappeared after handling Vanessa’s departure.
“Marco.”
“Yes, Boss?”
“Have the eastern master suite prepared immediately.”
“Call Dr. Rossi to conduct a complete health screening for both of them in the morning.”
“And send a security detachment to Claire’s apartment on California Avenue.”
“Have her personal belongings packed and brought to the estate before sunrise.”
My eyes widened in utter disbelief.
“Mr. Moretti, no!” I protested, shaking my head.
“We cannot live here!”
“This is a mafia compound!”
“There are men with automatic weapons walking the gardens!”
“There are security cameras on every corner!”
“This is no place to raise a little girl!”
Dominic’s expression hardened, not with anger toward me, but with the cold, protective instinct of an underworld king.
“You think your apartment in Humboldt Park is safer, Claire?” he countered, his voice dropping into a lethal whisper.
“Vanessa Bellini just left this house in tears of absolute humiliation.”
“Her father, Don Alberto, controls thirty crews of armed enforcers on the West Side.”
“By midnight, Alberto will know that his daughter was discarded because of a maid and a four-year-old child.”
The air left my lungs in a cold gasp.
I had been so focused on Dominic that I had completely forgotten the venomous wrath of the Bellini family.
Alberto Bellini was infamous for settling disputes with dynamite and fire.
If Alberto discovered where Maisie and I lived, our flimsy deadbolt on California Avenue wouldn't last ten seconds against his hitmen.
“You understand now, don't you?” Dominic said gently, seeing the stark terror on my face.
“If you step outside those gates tonight, you and Maisie will be hunted like prey.”
“Behind these walls, I have sixty trained men, reinforced steel barriers, and private security that even the FBI cannot breach.”
He reached out and gently picked Maisie up from the grand armchair.
Maisie didn't cry or pull away.
She nestled her head comfortably against Dominic’s broad shoulder, resting her cheek against the dark silk of his tie.
She was already half-asleep, exhausted by the trauma of the evening.
Dominic looked down at her small, peaceful face, his eyes luminous with a protective fire that could burn a city to the ground.
May you like
“You are under my roof now, Claire,” Dominic whispered, looking back at me.
“And in this house, nobody touches what belongs to the Moretti family.”
