Chapter 6 - The Unlikely Bond
Despite the brewing storm outside the estate walls, inside, a strange domesticity was taking root. It was late evening, and the thunderstorm outside mirrored the chaos in Dante’s mind. He was in his study, staring at a map of the city’s criminal territories, when he heard the door creak open.
He instinctively reached for the weapon under his desk before realizing the intruder was only three feet tall.
Elena stood in the doorway, dragging her stuffed bear by its ear, wearing a pair of oversized silk pajamas that Maria had tailored to fit her. She looked at Dante with large, unafraid eyes.
“I can't sleep,” she announced, as if this was entirely his problem to solve. “The thunder is too loud.”
Dante didn't know how to speak to children. He knew how to issue commands, how to threaten, how to negotiate. “Your mother should be with you.”
“She’s sleeping,” Elena said, padding into the room and approaching his massive desk. “She works hard. I don't want to wake her up.”
The memory of the flatbread flashed in Dante’s mind. This child was entirely too accustomed to putting everyone else’s needs before her own. Dante sighed, abandoning his maps. He walked around the desk and pointed to the massive leather sofa against the wall. “Sit.”
Elena climbed up, her legs dangling. Dante walked over to the grand piano in the corner of the room—an antique he hadn't touched since his own mother died. He sat on the bench, lifted the lid, and began to play a soft, classical lullaby. The music filled the room, drowning out the violent thunder outside.
Elena’s eyes grew heavy. She curled into the leather cushions, watching the terrifying mafia boss play with the gentleness of a saint.
“Mr. Dante?” she mumbled, her eyes closing.
“Yes, Elena.”
May you like
“Thank you for the ice cream. I needed it.”
Dante stopped playing. He looked at the sleeping girl, a fierce, primal protective instinct locking into his chest. He would burn Chicago to the ground before he let anyone take her back to a life of hunger.
