Chapter 5 - THE EAST WING SANCTUARY
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The eastern suite on the third floor of the Moretti estate was larger than the entire apartment building I had lived in for five years.
Vaulted ceilings painted with soft gold accents arched over floors of hand-scraped white oak covered in plush wool rugs.
A massive king-sized bed draped in crisp ivory Egyptian cotton dominated the center of the master bedroom.
Through the arched French doors, a private terrace overlooked the manicured rose gardens and the dark, shimmering expanse of Lake Michigan.
I stood in the center of the vast dressing room, feeling entirely out of place in my black maid’s uniform and worn sensible shoes.
Maisie was already fast asleep in the center of the giant bed, tucked beneath a down comforter that looked like a cloud.
Her worn pink cardigan with the crooked sunflower was neatly folded on the mahogany nightstand beside a glass of fresh milk.
A soft knock rattled the heavy oak door.
I walked over quietly and pulled it open three inches.
Dominic stood in the carpeted hallway.
He had removed his tailored jacket and his black tie, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his crisp dress shirt.
The dark ink of a coiling dragon tattoo peeked past his collarbone, tracing the strong lines of his neck.
In his hands, he carried a large leather-bound folder and a warm porcelain mug of herbal chamomile tea.
“Is she asleep?” Dominic asked, his voice low and hushed.
“Yes,” I replied, stepping back to let him enter.
“She was exhausted before dinner even started.”
Dominic walked over to the edge of the bed with steps so light they barely made a sound on the oak floor.
He stood looking down at Maisie for a long, quiet minute.
His large hand hovered over her forehead, hesitating for a fraction of a second before gently brushing a stray curl away from her eyes.
The ruthless Don of Chicago looked remarkably young in the dim lamplight, his rugged features stripped of their customary armor.
“She looks like my sister,” Dominic murmured softly, his eyes never leaving the little girl.
“Elena died when she was six years old from leukemia.”
“My father built the eastern wing of this house for her, but she never got to live in it.”
He turned toward me, extending the porcelain mug.
“Chamomile,” he said.
“You look like you haven't slept in three days.”
I took the mug, the warm ceramic soothing against my cold, trembling fingers.
“Thank you, Mr. Moretti.”
“Dominic,” he corrected gently, leaning against the marble fireplace mantel.
“You don't work for me anymore, Claire.”
“You are the mother of my child.”
“You will call me Dominic.”
I took a slow sip of the tea, the warmth spreading through my chest, though my mind remained a battlefield of anxiety.
“What happens now, Dominic?” I asked, leaning against the foot of the bed.
“The Bellinis won't let this go.”
Dominic set the leather folder down on the small writing desk near the terrace doors.
“Alberto Bellini called my private line twenty minutes ago,” Dominic stated calmly.
My heart leaped into my throat.
“What did he say?”
“He demanded a meeting of the Commission at noon tomorrow at the Drake Hotel.”
“He claims I violated the sacred treaty between our families by breaking the engagement without formal arbitration.”
“He wants Maisie surrendered to the Bellini family trust as collateral for the broken contract.”
I nearly dropped my mug, hot tea splashing against the rim.
“No!” I gasped, my voice rising in panic.
“They cannot have her!”
“Vanessa doesn't even want her!”
“She just wants to use Maisie to force you to marry her!”
Dominic crossed the room in two long strides, his hands coming down firmly on my shoulders.
His grip was warm, solid, and utterly reassuring.
“Breathe, Claire,” he commanded softly, looking directly into my frantic eyes.
“Look at me.”
I looked up into his dark, unwavering gaze.
“Nobody is touching Maisie,” Dominic said, each word carved from unyielding granite.
“Under syndicate law, a father’s bloodline claim supersedes all third-party contracts.”
“Tomorrow morning, Dr. Rossi will administer an expedited DNA test.”
“Within three hours, the certified medical results will be delivered to the five families of the Chicago Commission.”
“By noon, every boss in this state will know that Maisie is my legitimate, recognized heir.”
He reached out, his thumb gently catching a stray tear that had slipped down my cheek.
The intimacy of the gesture was so tender, so completely at odds with his dangerous reputation, that my breath hitched in my throat.
“And what about me?” I whispered, my voice trembling with vulnerability.
“Where do I fit into this mafia war?”
Dominic’s eyes softened into something deep, powerful, and profound.
“You are the woman who protected my legacy when everyone else abandoned her,” Dominic said.
“Tomorrow, you walk into the Drake Hotel beside me.”
“Not as a maid.”
May you like
“Not as an employee.”
“You walk into the council chamber as Donna Claire Moretti.”
