Chapter 1 - The Threshold
"What did you just say to me?" Dante Rossi’s voice was a low, dangerous rumble that barely cut through the sound of the pouring rain and the infant's shrieks.
"I said, let me soothe him," Clara repeated, her voice remarkably steady for a woman standing in the presence of a known killer. She didn't look at his tailored clothes or the dark tattoos peeking out from his collar. She only looked at the baby. "He's hungry. But not just for food. He's exhausted, and your stress is spiking his heart rate. Give him to me."
The guards tensed, hands dropping to their holsters. No one spoke to Dante Rossi like that. No one issued him commands on his own front step.
Dante stared at her. Clara didn't flinch. Slowly, the crime lord stepped forward, the heavy oak doors framing him like the entrance to hell. He looked at her threadbare coat, her pale face, and the desperate, empty ache in her eyes. He saw a ghost, and perhaps, he recognized one.
Without a word, he extended his arms and transferred the screaming child into Clara’s embrace.
The moment Leo touched Clara’s chest, the smell of milk and maternal warmth enveloped him. Clara tucked his small head beneath her chin, rocking him in a rhythmic, swaying motion that only a grieving mother knew. She hummed a soft, wordless lullaby, her hand rubbing small circles into his back.
Within sixty seconds, the frantic shrieks dissolved into ragged, exhausting hiccups. Within two minutes, Leo was asleep.
May you like
The courtyard was dead silent, save for the rain. The guards stared in absolute disbelief. Dante Rossi exhaled a breath that sounded like it had been trapped in his lungs for days.
"Bring her bag inside," Dante ordered his men, his dark eyes never leaving Clara's face. "The woman stays."
