Chapter 2 - THE SHADOW OF THE MORETTI ESTATE
I stared at Luca Moretti, my breath catching in my throat.
"Mr. Moretti," I said carefully, looking around the quiet restaurant where half the staff was watching us from behind the service station. "I'm currently on the clock, and I have four other tables—"
"I just bought out the restaurant for the night," Luca interrupted smoothly. He motioned with a slight nod of his head toward his head bodyguard. "Gabe, talk to the manager. Pay for every table currently seated, settle their bills, and clear the room."
Gabe nodded once and walked toward Greg, who looked as if he were about to faint on the spot.
Before I could process what was happening, Luca gently lifted Leo and offered him forward.
I reached out my arms instinctively. The moment my hands slid beneath Leo's small shoulders, the ten-month-old leaned into my chest, buried his tear-stained face into the crook of my neck, and let out a long, shuddering sigh of pure relief. His tiny fingers curled tightly around the silver pendant resting against my collarbone.
My heart melted, but the cold weight of Luca's gaze brought me back to reality.
He was standing now, all six-foot-two of him, towering over me. The light from the crystal chandeliers caught the sharp angles of his jawline, the pale line of his scar, and the dark tattoo disappearing into his collar.
"He hasn't touched anyone in six weeks," Luca said softly, his voice thick with an emotion he was trying desperately to conceal. "Not his nanny. Not his pediatricians. Not me."
I looked down at the baby in my arms. Leo's breathing had slowed to a soft, rhythmic rhythm. His eyelids were heavy, his long dark eyelashes resting against his pink cheeks.
"Six weeks?" I whispered. "What happened six weeks ago?"
Luca's eyes narrowed slightly, a shadow passing across his features. "His mother died."
A heavy silence settled over Table Twelve. The remaining patrons were quietly being guided out by the waitstaff, leaving the main dining room empty save for Luca's security detail posted at every exit.
"I'm so sorry," I murmured, gently rocking Leo in my arms.
"Sophia was killed in an automobile accident in North Philly," Luca said flatly, though the tightness in his jaw betrayed the lie. "Since that night, Leo hasn't allowed anyone to hold him without screaming until he vomited. He hasn't slept more than two hours at a time. The doctors told me it was infant regression caused by severe trauma."
He stepped closer to me—so close I could smell the faint scent of cedarwood, expensive tobacco, and rain on his wool suit.
"Then he touched you," Luca continued, his gray eyes locking onto mine with terrifying focus. "And he fell asleep in ten seconds."
"I... I don't know why," I stammered, feeling my pulse race against my ribs. "Maybe I smell like his mother's perfume? Or maybe my silver necklace caught his eye?"
Luca reached out with his right hand. His knuckles brushed against my collarbone as he inspected the silver pendant hanging from my neck. The touch was brief, but electric, sending a shiver straight down my spine.
"This is an old family crest," Luca murmured, his thumb running over the worn silver metal. "Where did you get this, Avery?"
"My mother," I replied, pulling back slightly. "She gave it to me before she passed away when I was sixteen. She said it belonged to my grandmother."
Luca exchanged a swift, dark look with Gabe, who had just returned from settling matters with Greg.
"Avery," Luca said, stepping into my personal space once more. "How much do you make working at this restaurant?"
"I... excuse me?"
"How much do you make in a month?"
"Including tips? Maybe three thousand dollars on a good month."
Luca didn't blink. "I will pay you twenty thousand dollars a month to work as Leo's personal caregiver at my estate in Chestnut Hill. You will live on the grounds, you will have your own private suite, and your sole duty will be ensuring my son is safe, happy, and fed."
My jaw dropped. "Twenty thousand dollars a month? Mr. Moretti, I am a waitress. I don't have a degree in early childhood education. I don't have—"
"I don't care about degrees," Luca cut me off, his voice absolute. "I care about the fact that my son is holding your neck and breathing normally for the first time in two months."
May you like
He pulled a sleek leather pen and a customized black card from his breast pocket, scribbling a phone number and an address on the back before slipping it into the front pocket of my apron.
"My driver will pick you up at seven o'clock tomorrow morning," Luca stated. "Pack your bags, Avery. You don't work here anymore."
