Chapter 1 - The Ghost in the Frame
For several seconds, nobody spoke. The baby was sleeping against my chest, one tiny fist curled tightly around the faded strap of my apron. His breathing was soft, steady, and utterly peaceful, completely undisturbed by the chilling silence that had suddenly settled over Restorante Orelio.
His father, meanwhile, looked as though the very ground had crumbled beneath his expensive leather shoes.
""Who is she?"" I finally whispered, my voice trembling under the heavy air.
The man didn't answer right away. His gaze flickered relentlessly from the aged, framed photograph behind the bar to my own features, then back again. Something raw and dangerous flickered in his midnight-dark eyes—grief, disbelief, and a terrifying spark of cold calculation.
""Her name was Clara,"" he rasped, his voice gravelly, like stones grating together. ""Clara DeLuca. And she died fourteen months ago.""
My breath hitched. The entire dining room felt like a vacuum where oxygen could no longer reach. My manager, Marco, stood frozen behind the counter, clutching a dirty polishing rag with white knuckles. The two stone-faced bodyguards by the doorway hadn’t moved an inch, hands resting intentionally inside their tailored jackets.
""I don't know any Clara,"" I said, my heart battering against my ribs. ""I'm Elina Valdez. I was raised in foster care three states away. I’ve worked here for six months.""
The man stepped closer, closing the distance between us until the sharp, masculine scent of cedarwood, expensive cigars, and subtle rain enveloped me. Up close, the jagged scar running along his jawline looked lethal. His eyes were the color of storm clouds over open water.
""My name is Lorenzo DeLuca,"" he murmured, his eyes locking onto my left cheek. ""And you have her dimple. You have the exact arch of her brow. But Clara never looked at anyone with eyes so completely devoid of cruelty.""
I instinctively took a step back, but the child nestled against me whimpered at the sudden movement, his tiny fingers clutching tighter onto the cotton of my shirt. Lorenzo's gaze dropped immediately to his son. The ruthless aura surrounding him softened, just for a fractured second, revealing an agonizing weariness underneath.
""Leo has not slept for more than twenty consecutive minutes without screaming since the day he was born,"" Lorenzo confessed, his voice dropping low enough that only I could hear. ""He screams when wet nurses touch him. He screams when my own flesh and blood tries to comfort him. The doctors said it was trauma. They said he felt the absence of the woman who carried him.""
""Babies know scent and heartbeat,"" I found myself answering quietly, surprised by my own bravery. ""He probably feels alone.""
""He doesn't seem alone right now,"" Lorenzo noted, raising one dark eyebrow.
Leo let out a tiny, contented sigh, his soft cheek nuzzling into the crook of my neck. He was so warm, so fragile, yet his existence felt like an anchor pulling me straight into an ocean I had no business swimming in.
""Mr. DeLuca,"" I said, trying to regain my composure as a waitress who simply needed to finish her shift and pay her overdue electrical bill. ""I'm sorry for your loss. But I just serve pasta here. If your son is calm, I'm glad. But you should probably take him home.""
""No,"" Lorenzo said flatly.
""Excuse me?""
""You're coming with me.""
The words hung in the air like a cold blade. My blood ran icy. ""I beg your pardon? You can't just kidnap people because your baby fell asleep on them!""
""It isn't kidnapping if you're paid,"" Lorenzo said smoothly, slipping a hand inside his coat.
I flinched, half-expecting a weapon, but he pulled out a matte-black checkbook and an exquisite fountain pen. With three swift strokes, he scribbled a figure, tore the check free, and laid it casually on the edge of the nearest wooden table.
I glanced down against my better judgment.
One hundred thousand dollars.
My vision swam. ""I... I can't take this.""
""That is merely your signing bonus, Miss Valdez,"" Lorenzo stated, his eyes boring into mine with absolute certainty. ""My son needs a caregiver. More specifically, he needs you. You will reside at my estate, care for him around the clock, and receive fifty thousand dollars on the first of every month. Refuse, and you can stay here, dodging your landlord and scrubbing grease for the rest of your life.""
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""And if I say no because I value my safety?"" I demanded, anger finally cutting through the terror.
Lorenzo’s lips curved into a faint, humorless smirk. ""If I intended to hurt you, Elina, you would already be in the trunk of my car. Look at my boy. He chose you. And in my world, nobody refuses a DeLuca.""
