Chapter 3
The executive holding room off the main ballroom was a soundproofed sanctuary of dark mahogany paneling, leather armchairs, and amber wall sconces. Outside, twenty armed Moretti soldiers secured the corridor, ensuring complete isolation from the chaotic aftermath in the gala hall.
Inside the room, Luca stood beside a towering bookshelf, his black suit jacket thrown over a chair, his black dress shirt unbuttoned further at the collar to reveal the dark tattoos covering his chest. His muscular forearms were tight as he paced back and forth across the Persian rug like a caged lion.
Sophia sat on a plush velvet sofa, refusing to sit in her pink wheelchair, which now sat abandoned in the corner. She held a fresh glass of apple juice in her small hands, her pale-yellow dress smoothed over her knees, her bright blue eyes fixed devotedly on Hannah, who sat beside her on the sofa.
Hannah cradled a warm cup of tea in her trembling hands. Her mint-green waitress dress was stained with spilled juice, her blonde-brown hair slightly unraveled from its neat bun, but her expression held a quiet, resolute bravery as she looked up at the feared Mafia boss.
"Start from the beginning," Luca commanded, his voice deep and raspy as he stopped pacing and leaned against the edge of the mahogany desk, his dark eyes locked onto her. "Every detail."
Hannah took a slow, shaky breath, setting her teacup down on the table. "Three years ago, I wasn't a waitress, Mr. Moretti. I was a night-shift pediatric care assistant at Saint Anthony’s. I worked in the private neonatal wing."
Luca’s jaw tightened, his light stubble catching the amber light. "I had twenty men guarding that floor."
"They were dead before the alarms even sounded," Hannah murmured softly, her eyes filling with tears as the horrific memories resurfaced. "It was three in the morning. I was in the linen supply room when I heard suppressed gunshots. I peeked through the door slats and saw four men in black tactical gear moving down the hall. They weren't there to kidnap baby Sophia. They were there to make sure your bloodline died."
Luca’s fists clenched so tightly that his tattooed knuckles turned white. "Go on."
"I ran into Sophia's room seconds before they reached it," Hannah continued, her voice trembling. "I knew I couldn't carry her out through the hallway without being shot. So I pulled her out of her incubator, wrapped her in three heavy thermal blankets, and hid her inside the bottom compartment of a heavy metal laundry cart beneath dirty linens."
Sophia reached out her tiny hand, gently touching Hannah's knee. "You hid me, Hannah."
"I hid you, my angel," Hannah wept softly, resting her hand over the child's small fingers before looking back up at Luca. "One of the gunmen walked into the room a moment later. He fired three rounds into the empty incubator to make it look like she was inside. A stray bullet ricocheted off the wall and grazed my shoulder."
Hannah pulled down the lace collar of her mint-green dress slightly, revealing a jagged, three-inch white scar near her left collarbone.
Luca’s piercing eyes narrowed as he stared at the scar. The physical proof was undeniable.
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"Why didn't you stay?" Luca demanded, his voice dropping into a raspy, desperate growl. "When my men arrived five minutes later, why did you vanish? Why did the police report say the nursery was empty until the paramedics found her in the laundry cart?"
"Because I saw who was leading the hit squad, Mr. Moretti," Hannah whispered, her voice dropping into a terrified, chilling tone. "He took off his mask in the hallway when he thought everyone was dead. It wasn't a rival family. It was one of your own men."
