Chapter 2
Dominic did not let anyone touch me after that.
Not Julian.
Not Chloe.
Not the restaurant medic who came running with shaking hands.
Not even the manager, who kept whispering apologies to men who could ruin him with one phone call.
Dominic lifted me himself.
I hated that my body folded so easily.
I hated that pain made me weak.
I hated more that Leo clung to my hand and cried when they tried to pull him away.
“No,” the boy sobbed. “She saved me.”
Dominic looked at him.
Then at me.
“Let him stay close.”
That was how I ended up in a private room behind Lumina’s kitchen with a crime lord’s son sitting beside me, holding my fingers like I belonged to him.
A doctor arrived within minutes.
Not an ambulance.
Not hospital staff.
A private doctor with a leather bag and no questions.
He cut the back of my uniform and cleaned the wounds while I gripped the edge of the table until my knuckles went numb.
Dominic stood near the wall.
Silent.
Watching.
Not like a man admiring damage.
Like a man counting enemies.
The doctor said, “She needs stitches. No major artery. She was lucky.”
Dominic’s eyes did not leave mine.
“Was she?”
The doctor lowered his gaze.
“No, sir.”
Leo sniffed.
“Papa, she has a moon flower.”
I closed my eyes.
The tattoo.
The stupid tattoo.
The only thing I had from a past I never understood.
Dominic stepped closer.
“Where did you get that mark?”
I opened my eyes.
“I don’t know.”
His jaw tightened.
“Do not lie to me.”
“I’m not.”
Leo’s hand tightened around mine.
I kept my voice steady for him.
“I was found outside a church when I was four. I had the tattoo already. I don’t remember before that.”
Dominic went so still the doctor paused mid-stitch.
“What church?”
“Saint Agnes. Queens.”
His face changed again.
Not surprise.
Confirmation.
One of his men, a broad-shouldered man with silver at his temples, whispered, “Boss…”
Dominic lifted one hand.
Silence.
The needle went through my skin again.
I sucked in a breath.
Leo leaned closer.
“You can squeeze my hand,” he whispered.
I almost cried.
Not from pain.
From the small, serious kindness in his face.
“Thank you,” I whispered back.
Dominic watched that too.
Nothing escaped him.
When the doctor finished, Dominic sent everyone out except Leo and the silver-haired man.
Then he pulled a chair beside me.
“I am going to ask you questions,” he said.
“I don’t think I have the strength to refuse.”
“That was not a refusal.”
A strange laugh slipped out of me.
It hurt.
His eyes softened for half a breath.
Then hardened again.
“Your name.”
“Elena Rossi.”
“Given by who?”
“The nuns.”
“Parents?”
“Unknown.”
“Birth records?”
“Sealed. Lost. Pick whichever lie sounds nicer.”
The silver-haired man looked away.
Dominic leaned closer.
“You were not abandoned.”
The words hit me in the ribs.
I stared at him.
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
“No. You don’t get to do this.”
My voice broke harder than I wanted.
“You don’t get to walk in because of some tattoo and rewrite my whole miserable life with one sentence.”
Leo looked scared.
I softened immediately.
“I’m sorry.”
Dominic looked at his son.
“Leo, go with Marco for a moment.”
“No.”
“Leonardo.”
The boy’s chin trembled.
“She’ll disappear.”
The room cracked open.
Because I knew that fear.
I had lived inside it.
I looked at him.
“I won’t.”
“You promise?”
Promises had destroyed me before.
David promised love.
Promised sobriety.
Promised forever.
Then he took everything.
But Leo looked at me like I was the only solid thing left in the room.
“I promise,” I said.
He nodded and let Marco lead him out.
When the door closed, Dominic stood.
“Twenty-six years ago, my baby sister disappeared from my mother’s garden.”
My heart stopped.
“She was four. Her name was Valentina Moretti. She had a crescent and rose tattoo placed by my grandmother, as all daughters in our bloodline did.”
My mouth went dry.
“No.”
“She was taken during a war between families.”
“No.”
“We searched for years.”
“No.”
His voice lowered.
“My mother died believing her daughter was alive.”
I pushed myself up too fast.
Pain exploded.
Dominic caught my arm.
I shoved him away.
“I am not some lost princess from a mob story. I am a waitress who can’t pay rent.”
“You are both.”
I shook my head.
“No. I know what this is. Men like you see something useful and make it yours.”
His eyes flashed.
“I do not need to invent blood.”
“Blood?” I laughed, sharp and broken. “Blood never came for me.”
That silenced him.
For the first time, Dominic Moretti looked wounded.
Not weak.
Wounded.
A knock came.
Marco entered, pale.
“Boss, we have a problem.”
Dominic did not turn.
“What?”
Marco looked at me.
Then back at him.
“Someone leaked her photo. The old families are already calling.”
Dominic’s face turned lethal.
“And?”
May you like
Marco swallowed.
“The Bellandis saw the tattoo.”
