Chapter 4 - the sound of a voice
The transition into the Moretti household was stranger and quieter than Savannah had anticipated. Dominic’s penthouse was not a den of monsters; it was a fortress of silent, disciplined luxury. Frankie kept three security men stationed on the floor at all times, but they moved like ghosts, never intruding on the central living quarters.
Savannah’s days took on a steady, calm rhythm. She did not force Leo to talk. She did not push him to play with loud, electronic toys. Instead, she brought sketch pads, soft pastels, and modeling clay into the sprawling living room.
By the fourth morning, Leo was no longer eating alone in his bedroom. He sat at the glass breakfast table, wearing a clean navy sweater, his towel rabbit tucked safely beneath his arm, watching Savannah prepare sliced strawberries.
Dominic walked into the dining area wearing a charcoal suit without a tie, carrying a leather portfolio. He stopped in the entryway, hesitant to disturb the fragile peace.
Savannah looked up and offered a faint, reassuring smile. "Good morning, Mr. Moretti."
"Dominic," he corrected quietly, pulling out a chair at the opposite end of the table so as not to crowd the boy. "Please."
Leo did not hide his face. He watched his father sit down, then reached out, picked up a strawberry from Savannah’s plate, and placed it on Dominic’s empty porcelain saucer.
Dominic’s breath hitched. He stared at the fruit, his throat working. He looked at Leo, then slowly lifted the strawberry to his mouth and took a bite. "Thank you, Leo. It's very good."
Leo’s ears turned pink, and he ducked his head with a tiny, satisfied smile.
Savannah watched the interaction from the counter, a warmth blooming in her chest that she hadn't felt since Toby was alive. But as Dominic stood up to leave for a meeting, his hand brushed against a metal serving tray on the sideboard, sending it clattering loudly against the granite.
The sharp metallic crash echoed through the suite like a gunshot.
Savannah flinched violently. Her shoulders hitched, her eyes dilated with sudden panic, and she took an instinctive step backward, knocking her hip against the kitchen island.
Dominic noticed instantly. His sharp eyes locked onto her trembling hands. The menacing mafia don disappeared; in his place was a man who observed everything.
"Savannah?" Dominic stepped around the island, his gaze intense. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine," she said quickly, tucking a loose lock of brown hair behind her ear, trying to steady her breathing. "Just… startled me, that's all."
Dominic didn't believe her. He recognized that flinch. It wasn't the reaction of someone who disliked loud noises; it was the reflex of someone who had learned, somewhere in her past, that a sudden crash was followed by violence.
Before he could question her, thunder boomed outside the windows. The Manhattan sky had turned the color of bruised plums. Within seconds, a fierce summer squall slammed into the glass, howling with ferocious intensity.
The lights in the penthouse flickered once, then died, plunging the vast room into semi-darkness before the emergency backup generators hummed to life, casting low amber pools across the floor.
A high, terrified wail ripped through the room.
Leo had dropped to the carpet beneath the table, both hands clamped over his ears, thrashing violently as the thunder shook the foundation of the tower.
"Leo!" Dominic dropped to his knees, reaching under the table, but the boy screamed louder, kicking his feet in wild, blind panic, rejecting his father’s outstretched arms. Dominic’s face twisted in agonized frustration. "Leo, it's just rain! Look at me, buddy, it's just rain!"
"Dominic, stop," Savannah said urgently, her voice cutting through the panic. "Step back. Please."
Dominic hesitated, then pulled his hands back, his jaw clenching as he retreated three paces.
Savannah slid under the table onto the carpet, ignoring the chill of the floor. She didn't try to pull Leo’s hands away. Instead, she curled her body around his, creating a soft, human barrier between him and the roaring storm outside.
Then, she began to hum.
It was an old, sweet melody, slow and steady as a heartbeat. Her voice was clear, soft, and resonant, rising above the rumble of thunder. As she hummed, she gently rocked side to side, her warmth enveloping the terrified child.
Dominic watched from the shadows, utterly transfixed. The sight of her—slender, luminous, wrapping herself around his broken son without a shred of hesitation—struck him with the force of an avalanche.
Leo’s thrashing slowed. His ragged sobs turned into trembling hiccups. He leaned his forehead against Savannah’s chest, feeling the vibration of her humming against his cheek.
Slowly, the boy pulled his hands away from his ears. He looked up at Savannah through wet, tear-stained lashes.
His small lips parted.
"…home," Leo whispered.
The word was tiny, barely louder than a falling leaf, but in the quiet of the penthouse, it hit the walls like thunder.
Dominic staggered where he stood, one hand gripping the edge of the dining table so hard his knuckles turned white. His eyes widened in utter disbelief. Two years of complete silence. Two years of hollow emptiness. Broken by a single whisper.
Leo snuggled deeper into Savannah’s sweater, his eyelids growing heavy with exhaustion. Savannah pressed a tender kiss to the top of the boy’s soft brown hair, her own eyes shining with unshed tears.
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When she looked up, she met Dominic’s gaze.
The mafia king of New York was staring at her with something terrifying in his blue eyes—an absolute, unshakeable reverence that made Savannah’s breath catch in her throat.
