Chapter 7 - MIDNIGHT IN THE NURSERY
|
The west wing was bathed in the soft amber light of shaded bedside lamps.
Dr. Bennett had finished applying a lightweight, waterproof fiberglass cast to Sophie’s right foot and ankle.
The little girl had finally fallen asleep, exhausted from the hours of terror and pain.
Her breathing was slow and even, her face relaxed against the satin pillows.
I sat in the velvet armchair beside the bed, holding a cold ice pack against my own bruised wrist.
During the chaos downstairs, one of Vanessa’s bodyguards had shoved me against the doorframe before Marco disarmed him.
My apron was stained with tea and water, my hair falling out of its neat bun.
The heavy bedroom door opened with a faint click.
Luca walked in, moving with a quiet grace that seemed unnatural for a man of his size.
He looked down at his sleeping daughter, his face softening completely.
He reached out, his large, calloused fingers gently brushing a stray lock of dark hair from Sophie’s forehead.
“She’s resting peacefully, Mr. Moretti,” I whispered, rising to my feet out of respect.
Luca turned his head toward me.
“Sit down, Claire,” he ordered softly.
“You don't need to stand for me in this room.”
I hesitated, then sank back into the armchair, resting my hands in my lap.
Luca pulled the wooden desk chair over and sat down directly across from me.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his dark eyes studying my face with intense focus.
“Arthur told me you refused to leave her side during the casting,” Luca said.
“She was scared, sir,” I replied honestly.
“She thought the saw that cuts the cast material was going to hurt her skin.”
“I promised her I would hold her hand until she fell asleep.”
Luca’s gaze dropped to my right wrist, noticing the faint blue swelling near the joint.
Before I could pull away, he reached out and took my wrist in his hand.
His touch was warm, firm, and surprisingly gentle.
He examined the bruise with a frown.
“Who did this?”
“It’s nothing, Mr. Moretti,” I stammered, my heart skipping a beat at his proximity.
“Just an accident when the security team entered the room.”
“Nothing in this house is an accident tonight, Claire,” Luca said, his thumb gently smoothing over the tender skin.
“I will have Arthur look at it before you leave.”
“I don't need a doctor, sir.”
“I just want to make sure Sophie is going to be all right.”
Luca looked at his daughter, then back at me.
“She will walk again in six weeks.”
“Arthur says she will be able to dance by spring if she takes her physical therapy seriously.”
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding, a genuine smile breaking across my face.
“Thank God.”
Luca watched my smile, his dark eyes lingering on my lips for a moment longer than necessary.
“Why did you do it, Claire?” he asked suddenly.
I blinked, confused.
“Do what, sir?”
“You knew who Vanessa Bellini was.”
“You knew her family controlled the southern shipping docks.”
“You knew that speaking against her at that dinner table could have cost you your life.”
I looked down at my hands, remembering the terror I felt when Vanessa had threatened me in the pantry.
“I grew up in foster homes, Mr. Moretti,” I said quietly.
“I know what it feels like to have adults tell you that your pain doesn't matter.”
“I know what it feels like to be completely alone in a room full of people who pretend they don't hear you crying.”
I looked back up, meeting his piercing gaze without flinching.
“Sophie is just a little girl.”
“I don't care how many millions of dollars were sitting at that table.”
“Nobody should have to bleed for someone else’s greed.”
Luca didn't say a word for several seconds.
He simply stared at me, his eyes holding an expression of profound, unspoken respect.
He released my wrist, leaning back in his chair.
“You are twenty-four years old, Claire?”
“Twenty-three, sir.”
“Where is your family?”
“My mother lives in a hospice care facility in Evanston,” I said softly.
“She has end-stage kidney failure.”
“My entire paycheck goes toward her dialysis and medications.”
Luca nodded slowly, committing every detail to his memory.
“Not anymore,” Luca said.
I looked at him, startled.
“Sir?”
“Tomorrow morning, your mother will be transferred to Northwestern Memorial Hospital.”
“She will be under the personal care of the chief of nephrology.”
“All expenses will be covered by the Moretti private medical foundation for the rest of her life.”
My mouth fell open, tears instantly blurring my vision.
“Mr. Moretti... I can’t accept that. That’s thousands of dollars a month—”
“You saved my daughter’s life tonight, Claire,” Luca interrupted, his voice leaving no room for argument.
“There is no price on that.”
“From this night forward, you are no longer a maid in this house.”
Panic seized my chest.
“Are you firing me, sir?”
Luca’s lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile.
“No, Claire.”
“I am appointing you as Sophie’s legal guardian and personal companion.”
“You will live in the west wing, you will manage her schedule, and you will answer only to me.”
Before I could answer, a frantic knock rattled the reinforced mahogany door.
Marco’s voice boomed from the hallway.
May you like
“Boss! We have a breach at the southern gate!”
“Antonio Bellini’s men just intercepted the federal transport convoy on the expressway!”
