Chapter 3 - The Little Wooden Chair
Dawn arrived in thin gray slivers through the heavy velvet curtains.
Alessandro opened his eyes.
His mind cleared instantly—the razor-sharp alertness of a man who lived under constant threat of assassination. His right hand twitched toward the gun on the table, but he froze.
A weight was resting on his chest.
Not a bomb. Not an assassin’s blade.
A little girl, no bigger than a bundle of linen, was sound asleep with her nose buried in the cotton of his shirt. Her small thumb was tucked into her mouth, and her other hand still held fast to his index finger with an unbreakable toddler grip. A ragged, one-eared stuffed rabbit was pinned under her elbow.
Alessandro stared.
He did not move. He did not breathe. For ten full seconds, the man who controlled half the shipping ports on the eastern seaboard and commanded hundreds of armed soldiers sat utterly paralyzed by thirty pounds of sleeping child.
A sharp knock broke the stillness.
"Boss?" Enzo’s deep voice came through the oak. "It’s 6:00 AM. Marchetti is back with the clean dressing."
The knob turned. Enzo stepped into the room with his hand already resting naturally on the concealed holster under his jacket. He took one step, looked at the couch, and stopped dead.
Enzo had seen Alessandro survive three car bombings, walk out of an ambush in Palermo with two broken ribs, and execute a rival boss without blinking. He had never seen Alessandro Romano pinned down by a toddler in a pink nightgown.
"Sir...?" Enzo choked out, his eyes widening.
"Quiet," Alessandro commanded in a low, dangerous whisper that barely carried across the room.
Lily stirred at the voice. She rubbed her eyes with a tiny fist, blinked at the bright firelight, and looked up into the severe, dark eyes staring down at her.
She didn't scream. She didn't flinch.
"You have a loud heart," Lily announced casually.
Alessandro’s eyebrow twitched. "Who are you?"
"Lily," she said, sitting up on his stomach. "Poppy and me couldn't find Mama. You had an owie." She pointed an accusatory finger at his bandaged shoulder. "Marchetti doctor put tape on it."
Enzo stepped forward quickly. "She’s the maid’s kid. Clara Bennett. Room four in the east quarters. I'll get her out of here immediately, Boss—"
"Leave her," Alessandro said.
Enzo paused mid-stride. "Sir?"
Alessandro carefully sat up, supporting the small of the girl’s back with his massive palm so she wouldn't tumble onto the floor. "I said leave her. Have Mrs. Gable bring breakfast. Two trays. And find a small wooden chair."
"A chair?"
"A chair that fits beside my desk," Alessandro said coldly, standing up and adjusting his cuff. "And tell the mother she is not to be reprimanded."
By noon, the Romano estate was buzzing with a silence so thick it felt like electricity. In the massive mahogany study, where multimillion-dollar contracts were signed and ruthless territory disputes were settled, a miniature oak armchair sat directly to the right of the crime boss’s high-backed leather throne.
May you like
Lily sat in it, her little legs swinging back and forth, eating butter cookies off a gold-rimmed porcelain plate while Alessandro read through intelligence reports with a faint, uncharacteristic calm.
---
