Chapter 1 - THE LITTLE GIRL IN THE FORBIDDEN OFFICE
On my first day working for Chicago's most feared mafia boss, my three-year-old daughter broke into his forbidden office and tried to feed him a half-eaten cookie. I thought Alessandro Moretti would have us thrown out immediately, but when she looked into his cold, merciless eyes and promised to take care of him, the man everyone feared did something nobody expected.
I had been working at the Moretti estate for exactly twenty-three minutes when my daughter disappeared.
"Emma?" I whispered, searching the staff room.
Her yellow sweater was gone. So was her stuffed rabbit. Only a red crayon remained beneath her chair.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
I couldn't afford to lose this job. Six weeks unemployed, overdue rent, and a babysitter who canceled that morning had forced me to bring Emma along.
The supervisor had reluctantly agreed, but I'd made my daughter promise to stay put.
Now she'd vanished inside a mansion belonging to a man whose name terrified half of Chicago.
"Have you seen a little girl?" I asked two housekeepers.
One glanced nervously toward the hallway.
"I heard a child near the west wing."
My blood turned cold.
The west wing was forbidden.
I hurried through the marble corridors until I reached a massive oak door standing slightly open.
Then I heard Emma's tiny voice.
"Here. You eat it."
I pushed the door open.
And nearly stopped breathing.
My daughter was kneeling on a leather chair beside Alessandro Moretti's wheelchair, holding half a broken butter cookie inches from his mouth.
The thirty-nine-year-old crime boss stared at her with piercing gray eyes.
Two years earlier, a roadside ambush had left him paralyzed. Since then, his reputation had only grown darker.
"EMMA!"
I rushed forward.
"Mr. Moretti, I'm terribly sorry! She wasn't supposed to leave the staff room. Please, I promise this will never happen again!"
I reached for my daughter.
"Stop."
His deep voice froze me.
He raised one hand.
"She hasn't finished."
I stared at him.
"Excuse me?"
Emma pushed the cookie closer.
"You have to eat."
Alessandro narrowed his eyes.
"Do I?"
"Yes."
"And why is that, little girl?"
"Because you're sad."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
"Emma, sweetheart, please," I whispered.
But she pointed toward his untouched lunch tray.
"You didn't eat your food. And your face is too skinny."
I wanted to disappear.
Nobody spoke to Alessandro Moretti like that. Nobody dared.
He studied her for several unbearable seconds.
Then something shifted in his expression.
He slowly reached out and accepted the broken cookie.
Emma smiled triumphantly.
"Good boy."
My eyes widened in horror.
And then she placed her tiny hand over his.
"Don't worry. I'll take care of you."
Alessandro went completely still.
His gaze dropped to her little fingers resting against his hand.
When he finally looked up at me, his expression had changed so dramatically that I forgot how to breathe.
"What's your daughter's name?" he asked quietly.
"Emma, sir."
He repeated it under his breath.
Then his eyes locked onto mine.
"Tell me something. Who is her father?"
My throat tightened.
Of all the questions he could have asked, that was the one I had spent three years avoiding.
"Her father isn't in our lives."
Alessandro looked at Emma again.
"Does he know she exists?"
"Yes."
"And he still left?"
I held my daughter's little hand.
"Some people aren't prepared to love anyone but themselves."
A muscle moved in Alessandro's jaw.
Emma, completely unaware of the tension, lifted her stuffed rabbit onto his lap.
"This is Buttons. He's brave."
Alessandro looked down at the rabbit.
"Is he?"
"He got a hole in his ear, but Mommy fixed him."
She pointed to the uneven stitching.
"See? Broken things can still be good."
Something passed across Alessandro's face.
Pain, perhaps.
Or recognition.
He touched the rabbit's damaged ear.
"Your mother sounds very wise."
Emma nodded proudly.
"She's the best."
I felt tears prick my eyes.
Then the office door opened.
A tall man in a black suit stepped inside.
"Boss, the security review—"
He stopped when he saw Emma.
His hand moved instinctively toward his jacket.
Alessandro's voice turned to ice.
"Take your hand away from your weapon, Luca."
The man froze.
"Sir?"
"There's a child in the room."
Luca lowered his hand immediately.
Alessandro turned toward me.
"What's your name?"
"Claire Bennett."
He repeated it.
Then said something I never expected.
"Claire, you and your daughter are not being dismissed."
I blinked.
"Sir?"
"But there will be rules. The west wing contains equipment and confidential material. Emma cannot wander through it alone."
"Of course."
He looked at Luca.
"Find a safe room where she can stay with supervision while her mother works."
Luca nodded.
Then Alessandro looked at Emma.
"And you, young lady, owe your mother an apology for frightening her."
Emma's smile disappeared.
She turned toward me.
"Sorry, Mommy."
I knelt and hugged her.
"Don't ever disappear like that again."
She nodded against my shoulder.
Then she whispered loudly enough for everyone to hear:
"But Mommy, the sad man needed a cookie."
Behind me, Alessandro Moretti laughed.
It was a quiet sound.
Almost rusty.
Luca stared at him as though he'd witnessed a miracle.
I didn't know it then, but that laugh would become the beginning of everything.
Because three days later, someone would leave a photograph beneath my bedroom door.
A photograph of Alessandro's destroyed car.
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And on the back, written in red ink, were seven words.
HE WAS NEVER SUPPOSED TO SURVIVE THAT NIGHT.
