Chapter 4 - A Father's Instinct
Lucy stared at the white silk cloth, then glanced up at her mother as if asking for permission. Maria was weeping silently, her hands trembling as she nodded to her daughter.
Lucy took the handkerchief with both hands and dabbed at her wet cheeks. Her lower lip still trembled, but the terrified look in her wide hazel eyes was slowly giving way to awe.
Nicholas gently reached out. “May I see your arm, sweetheart?”
Lucy hesitated for a second before extending her right wrist. Nicholas cradled her tiny hand with immense care, as if holding fragile porcelain. Up close, the damage was sickening. Dark purple bruises had already blossomed where Vivienne’s manicured fingers had dug into the child’s soft flesh. There were tiny scratches where long acrylic nails had broken the skin.
Something dark and primal twisted inside Nicholas’s chest. He had seen violence his entire life. He had inflicted it on men who deserved it. But to see pain inflicted on someone so small, so defenseless, stirred a protective rage he had never known he possessed.
“Does it hurt?” he asked gently.
Lucy gave a small nod. “A little bit. But I didn’t mean to be bad, Mr. Nicholas. The cookies smelled like vanilla, and Mommy hasn’t eaten all day because she was cleaning the big windows... I just wanted to give her a treat.”
Nicholas closed his eyes for a brief moment, swallowing the knot in his throat. When he opened them, he looked directly at Maria.
“Maria,” he said firmly. “Look at me.”
The young mother lifted her head, her face pale, exhaustion carved deep into the lines around her eyes. “Yes, Mr. Moretti?”
“Why didn’t you come to me the first time Vivienne threatened you?”
Maria wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve, her voice trembling. “Mr. Moretti, you gave me a job when no one else would hire a single mother with a child. You gave us a roof over our heads. Miss Hart made it clear that if I caused any trouble, she would make sure you threw us onto the street. She said... she said people like us are disposable. I couldn't risk Lucy sleeping in the cold again.”
Nicholas stood up, his jaw set like iron. “You are not disposable, Maria. And under my roof, no one touches your daughter. Not a senator, not a cartel boss, and certainly not Vivienne Hart.”
He turned to Arthur, who was standing by with a silver tray. “Arthur, call Dr. Evans. Have him come to the estate immediately to treat Lucy’s wrist and give both of them a thorough checkup.”
“At once, sir.”
“And Arthur?” Nicholas added.
“Sir?”
“Take their bags back upstairs. But not to the staff quarters. Move Maria and Lucy into the guest suite in the east wing.”
Maria gasped, her eyes flying wide. “Mr. Moretti, no! That’s the family wing! We can’t possibly stay there—that’s too much!”
Nicholas looked down at Lucy, whose fingers were still clutching his silk handkerchief. A rare, faint smile touched the corner of his lips. “The east wing has the biggest bathtub in the house, Lucy. And a balcony where you can watch the birds in the morning. Would you like that?”
May you like
Lucy looked between Nicholas and her mother, her eyes shining with pure wonder. “Can I have another cookie there?”
Nicholas chuckled, a deep, warm sound that made Maria stare in disbelief. “Sweetheart, you can have as many cookies as you want.”
