Chapter 6 - beneath the armor
Savannah stayed. Not for the money, and not for the luxury, but because when dawn broke over the city, Leo padded out of his room, saw her sitting by the window, and climbed straight into her lap, burying his face into the crook of her neck with a quiet sigh of relief.
Dominic handled the rest in silence.
By noon that day, Frankie had quietly closed the offshore charity account, paid off every lingering medical debt tied to Toby’s name with Dominic’s private personal funds, and transferred the deed of the Reeves family cemetery plot upstate into a secure, perpetual trust. Dominic never mentioned it to Savannah. He simply had Frankie slide the clear title deed into her room while she was reading to Leo on the terrace.
When Savannah found the documents that afternoon, she walked into Dominic’s private library without knocking.
Dominic was sitting at the low leather couch, reviewing shipping manifests on a tablet. He looked up, his expression guarded.
Savannah held the deed in her trembling hand. "You paid the entire balance. All four hundred thousand dollars."
Dominic set the tablet aside and stood up. "Nobody owns a debt over you, Savannah. Not Vance. Not a hospital. Nobody."
"Dominic, I can't accept this. This is—"
"It’s not a gift," Dominic interrupted gently, crossing the room until he stood barely two feet from her. His blue-gray eyes were softer than she had ever seen them. "It's an apology. For questioning your honor. And for making you feel like a pawn in my war."
Savannah looked at the paperwork, then up into his handsome, tired face. The light stubble along his jaw only accentuated the deep lines carved by years of stress, vigilance, and loneliness.
"Who was she, Dominic?" Savannah asked softly, the question slipping out before she could stop it. "Leo’s mother."
Dominic’s jaw tightened briefly, but the harshness didn't return. He walked to the wide window, looking down at the crawling yellow cabs forty floors below.
"Her name was Elena," he said, his tone devoid of affection. "It was an arranged match between two old families. An alliance of convenience. She wanted the status, the diamonds, the penthouses. But when Leo was born, and it became clear that he was… different, she couldn't stand it. She called him broken. She said a Moretti heir who couldn't command a room was an embarrassment."
Savannah felt a surge of cold fury on Leo’s behalf. "How could any mother say that?"
"She tried to force him to perform at galas, locked him in his room when he had sensory overloads, dragged him to charlatans who claimed they could shock the weakness out of him," Dominic said, his voice tightening with suppressed rage. "Two years ago, when Leo was four, she tried to sign him over to a remote residential institution in Switzerland so she wouldn't have to look at him. I found out. I gave her ten million dollars, took full legal custody, and told her that if she ever stepped foot in the state of New York again, she wouldn't leave it on two legs."
Savannah walked over to him, stopping right at his side. She looked at his clenched fists, at the dark tattoos swirling around his wrists.
"He's not broken, Dominic," she said softly.
Dominic turned to look at her. "I know. But I didn't know how to reach him. Every time I looked at him, I was terrified that my world, my violence, had killed whatever light he had inside."
"You didn't kill it," Savannah said, her hand rising instinctively and resting gently against his forearm. The linen of his sleeve was soft against her fingers, but beneath it, the muscle was like iron. "He was just waiting for someone to be quiet enough to hear him."
Dominic looked down at her hand on his arm. His breath slowed. The raw, unspoken chemistry that had been simmering between them since the moment she walked into his penthouse suddenly flared into something electric, intoxicating, and heavy.
Dominic lifted his other hand, his rough thumb gently brushing a stray curl from her temple. His touch was surprisingly tender, reverent, and hesitant—as if he were terrified that a single rough movement might shatter the only peace he had found in years.
May you like
"Savannah," he breathed, his voice rough.
Before he could say more, the small sound of pattering feet sounded in the hallway. Dominic stepped back, breaking the spell, as Leo appeared in the doorway, holding up a drawing pad with a shy, expectant grin.
