Chapter 8 - Echoes of the Past
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That afternoon, the sky over Manhattan turned the color of bruised iron as heavy rain began to fall.
Mia and I spent the hours in the third-floor library, building an elaborate blanket fort between the bookshelves.
She was laughing, clutching a worn teddy bear that had once belonged to her mother.
“Mommy used to read me fairy tales in here when it rained,” Mia whispered, staring out the tall windows.
I sat beside her on a plush velvet rug, handing her a freshly baked chocolate cookie.
“What was your mother like, Mia?”
Mia’s face softened with a nostalgic, sweet innocence.
“She had curly brown hair like you, Miss Sarah.”
“And she always smelled like vanilla and fresh rain.”
“She wasn't loud like Miss Isabella.”
“Mommy used to say that the quietest people are the bravest because they listen with their hearts.”
A soft footstep at the entrance of the library made both of us look up.
Dante was standing in the doorway, his coat damp from the rain, watching us in silence.
His tie was loosened, his hair slightly disheveled, and his dark eyes carried the exhaustion of a long battle.
“Daddy!” Mia cheered, crawling out of the blanket fort and running toward him.
Dante caught her mid-air, lifting her effortlessly and burying his face into her neck.
“Did you finish your business at the docks?” she asked, wrapping her arms around his neck.
“The docks are secure, sweetheart,” Dante answered softly.
“Nobody takes what belongs to this family.”
He carried her over to the window, pointing out at the city skyline blurred by the downpour.
“It’s time for your bath and evening reading, Mia,” Dante said gently, setting her down.
“Can Miss Sarah read the story about the sea dragon tonight?”
“Only if you promise to go straight to sleep afterward,” Dante negotiated with a smirk.
Mia nodded enthusiastically and sprinted out of the library toward her bedroom down the hall.
I stood up, brushing cookie crumbs from my skirt, preparing to follow her.
“Sarah,” Dante called out before I could reach the door.
I stopped and turned around, finding him standing only two feet away from me.
The scent of expensive cedarwood, rain, and faint gunsmoke clung to his wool jacket.
“You called me Dante this morning,” he said, his voice deep and rumbling like thunder.
Heat rushed into my cheeks, and I lowered my eyes.
“I apologize, Mr. Rinaldi.”
“It slipped out in the heat of the moment.”
“I didn't mean to overstep my bounds as an employee.”
Dante took a step closer, closing the distance between us until I could feel the heat radiating from his chest.
He reached out with a rough, calloused finger and gently lifted my chin until our eyes met.
“I don't want you to call me Mr. Rinaldi,” he said, his gaze burning directly into mine.
“You are the only person in this city who told me the truth when everyone else was lying.”
“You protected my child when her own future stepmother tried to discard her.”
“You are not just an employee in this house, Sarah.”
My breath caught in my throat as his thumb grazed my lower lip.
For a heartbeat, the entire world narrowed down to the sound of our breathing and the rain against the glass.
“Dante,” I whispered, the name tasting forbidden and intoxicating on my tongue.
He leaned in slightly, his dark eyes darkening further, before the sharp ring of his encrypted phone shattered the moment.
Dante pulled back with a suppressed growl of frustration, pulling the device from his pocket.
He glanced at the caller ID, and his jaw hardened instantly into stone.
“Romano,” Dante answered coldly, pressing the phone to his ear.
May you like
I watched his face drain of all warmth as the voice on the other end delivered a message.
“If you touch a single hair on her head, Antonio,” Dante growled into the receiver, “I will burn your empire to ash.”
