Chapter 2 - THE MAFIA BOSS WHO HELD MY HAND
Z
The first thing I heard when I woke was a heartbeat.
Fast.
Steady.
Magnified through a machine.
I opened my eyes.
White ceiling.
Soft lighting.
A hospital room.
For one terrible moment, I couldn't remember how I'd gotten there.
Then I felt my stomach.
Still round.
Still carrying my daughter.
“Lily?”
My voice cracked.
A woman in blue scrubs turned toward me.
“Your baby's heartbeat is reassuring, Emma.”
I started crying.
The nurse moved closer.
“Your doctors are monitoring you carefully. You had abdominal pain and became faint, but there's no indication right now that you're in labor.”
I nodded shakily.
“Can I see her?”
“The obstetrician will be back shortly. We'll explain everything.”
I closed my eyes.
Thank God.
Thank God.
Thank God.
A chair scraped beside the bed.
I turned.
Lorenzo Moretti sat near the window.
He had removed his coat and loosened his tie.
His dark hair looked disheveled.
He was holding a paper cup of coffee he hadn't touched.
When he saw me awake, he stood.
“Emma.”
I stared.
“Mr. Moretti?”
“You frightened everyone.”
I looked down.
“I'm sorry.”
His expression hardened.
“Don't apologize.”
I swallowed.
“I didn't mean to cause trouble.”
He approached slowly.
“You were in pain. You needed medical attention. That's not trouble.”
I looked at the bruises on my wrists.
He noticed.
His jaw tightened.
“Emma, I need to ask you something.”
I nodded.
“Who hurt you?”
My stomach twisted.
I looked toward the door.
He followed my gaze.
“Mrs. Gable isn't here.”
I hesitated.
“She's the head housekeeper.”
“I know.”
“She decides who stays employed.”
Lorenzo pulled the chair closer.
“Not anymore.”
I looked up.
He continued.
“My father has been trying to tell me something. I think it concerns her.”
Tears filled my eyes.
“Please don't punish the other staff. Some of them tried to help.”
He studied me.
“You're worried about them?”
I nodded.
“They have families.”
For a moment, Lorenzo looked almost bewildered.
Then he asked quietly:
“Who worries about you?”
I opened my mouth.
No answer came.
The obstetrician entered before I could respond.
She explained that the baby's heartbeat and initial evaluation were reassuring, but my pain, exhaustion, and fainting required continued observation.
She asked about my work.
Heavy lifting.
Long hours.
Adequate food.
Rest.
I stared at my hands.
Lorenzo listened without interrupting.
When the doctor left, he looked at me.
“Your doctor warned you not to lift heavy objects?”
I nodded.
“And you were still carrying buckets?”
I couldn't meet his eyes.
“Mrs. Gable said if I refused, she'd fire me.”
Silence.
Then Lorenzo stood.
He walked toward the window.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
When he turned back, his expression frightened me.
Not because he looked angry at me.
Because he looked like a man who had just discovered something unforgivable.
“Emma,” he said, “you will not be returning to those working conditions.”
I swallowed.
“I need the money.”
“I understand.”
“No, you don't.”
The words escaped before I could stop them.
He went still.
I looked down.
“I'm sorry.”
“Don't be.”
I took a shaking breath.
“You don't know what it's like to choose between groceries and a doctor. You don't know what it's like to be pregnant and have nowhere safe to go.”
Lorenzo sat down again.
“No,” he admitted. “I don't.”
His honesty surprised me.
“But I can listen.”
I looked at him.
And for the first time, I believed he meant it.
That evening, a nurse brought me dinner.
Chicken.
Rice.
Vegetables.
A warm roll.
I ate slowly.
Lorenzo remained nearby.
Afterward, he received a call.
I heard only fragments.
“Preserve the records.”
“Interview everyone.”
“No threats.”
“Contact my father's physician.”
Then he ended the call.
“Is everything okay?” I asked.
He looked at me.
“I'm beginning to understand how badly I failed my father.”
I didn't know what to say.
He continued.
“Five years ago, he had a stroke. I hired people I thought were qualified. I paid them well. I believed that meant he was cared for.”
I remembered the freezing room.
The cold oatmeal.
The wheelchair facing the wall.
“You didn't visit?”
His eyes darkened.
“Not enough.”
I looked down.
He whispered:
“I thought seeing him like that would break me.”
I looked at him again.
“And leaving him alone didn't?”
The words hung between us.
Lorenzo closed his eyes.
“No,” he said finally. “It broke him instead.”
Late that night, I woke to find him standing near the door.
“Mr. Moretti?”
He turned.
“Go back to sleep.”
“Your father.”
His expression softened.
“What about him?”
“Please make sure somebody opens his curtains tomorrow.”
Lorenzo stared.
I swallowed.
“He likes the pine trees.”
For a long moment, he said nothing.
May you like
Then he nodded.
“I'll open them myself.”
