Chapter 2
The entire entrance hall plunged into a suffocating, dead silence.
The sound of Sofie’s sweet, high-pitched voice seemed to hang frozen in the air beneath the glittering crystal chandeliers. Two muscular bodyguards standing near the main entrance exchanged astonished, wide-eyed glances, their hands hovering near their tailored jackets. No one had ever spoken to Lorenzo Duca in such a tone. No one approached him without permission, let alone dared to make a personal physical request.
Clara rushed forward, her silver tray clattering onto a nearby side table as tears of pure terror welled in her expressive brown eyes. Her hands shook violently as she reached out to grab her daughter, terrified that the ruthless crime lord would order them thrown into the streets—or worse.
"Mr. Duca! I am so sorry!" Clara gasped, her voice choking with panic as she prepared to drop to her knees. "She slipped away from the servant quarters! Please forgive her, sir—"
Lorenzo slowly raised one broad, gloved hand into the air, making a sharp, silent gesture that instantly stopped Clara in her tracks.
Lorenzo did not look at Clara. His focus remained entirely anchored on the little girl standing before him in her pale-yellow floral dress. The stern, unyielding lines around his masculine jawline flickered as he processed the child’s bold, innocent plea.
Slowly, deliberately, the feared Mafia king lowered his tall, broad-shouldered frame, dropping down onto one knee on the polished marble floor.
His heavy black leather shoes creaked softly against the floor as he brought his face level with Sofie’s. Up close, his piercing blue eyes looked directly into hers—the dark, terrifying lord of Chicago meeting the gaze of a three-year-old child. His dark, neatly trimmed stubble and masculine features usually intimidated hardened criminals, but Sofie did not flinch. She simply stood her ground, clutching her worn cream stuffed rabbit with its lavender ribbon against her ribs.
Lorenzo studied her face with an unexpected, deep curiosity.
"Why five minutes, sweetheart?" Lorenzo asked, his deep baritone voice calm, smooth, and genuinely puzzled.
CLOSE SHOT on Sofie's innocent face.
She hugged her stuffed rabbit tighter against her small chest, her golden-blonde curls bouncing gently against her yellow dress collar. Her large blue eyes filled with a sudden, overwhelming wave of emotion, glinting like liquid glass under the golden light. She glanced briefly toward her mother, who stood frozen in terror three feet away, and then turned her attention back to Lorenzo's handsome, rugged face.
Her tiny voice trembled with a heartbreaking, pure sincerity that vibrated through the quiet hall.
"I just want to know what a daddy's hug feels like," Sofie whispered, her lower lip quivering slightly as a single tear escaped her long eyelashes and rolled down her rosy cheek.
Lorenzo froze.
The powerful, terrifying expression that had governed his countenance for two decades instantly shattered. The cold armor he wore as the head of the Duca empire melted away, replaced by a sudden, overwhelming wave of unexpected tenderness. The words struck a hidden, deeply buried chamber in his chest—a space that had been hollow and cold for years.
Clara covered her mouth with both trembling hands, a choked sob escaping her throat as she struggled to hold back her tears, witnessing her daughter’s raw, unspoken heartache.
After a brief, emotionally charged silence, Lorenzo slowly extended his broad arms, opening them wide toward the little girl.
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Sofie’s expressive face immediately brightened. The sorrow in her eyes vanished, replaced by a radiant, pure joy. She dropped all hesitation and rushed forward, throwing her small frame into his broad chest. Her tiny arms wrapped tightly around Lorenzo’s neck, her pale-yellow dress crumpling against his black wool jacket.
Lorenzo carefully closed his arms around her, his massive, strong hands gently supporting her tiny, fragile body as he pulled her securely against his heart.
