Chapter 3 - Cold Hands and Warm Bread
""Nobody touches that child,"" Luca growled, the sheer violence in his voice freezing the armed security guards in their tracks.
Marco stepped in front of his brother, his face twisted in mockery. ""Are you blind, Luca? The test is negative! The science is absolute! You're going soft over an old dockside fling, and it's making you weak. If Father were healthy enough to leave his bed, he would have tossed that beggar child into the bay by now!""
Luca didn't flinch. He picked up the laboratory report, his cold eyes scanning the figures. ""A twelve percent match is impossible for a completely unrelated stranger. Dr. Vance, you claim to have run this assay personally. Why does the technician’s digital timestamp indicate the vial was accessed from an external IP address thirty minutes ago?""
The doctor broke into a cold sweat, darting a frantic glance toward Vanessa. ""T-The cloud backup system syncs automatically across the regional server, Don Luca! It is standard diagnostic protocol!""
""We will discuss your protocols later,"" Luca said quietly, a promise of devastation laced in every syllable. ""Julian, secure the master samples under your private lock. Collins, prepare the nursery suite next to my master bedroom.""
""You can't be serious!"" Vanessa shrieked. ""You're keeping her here after the test proved she's nothing to you?""
""I am the head of this family,"" Luca stated coldly, fixing her with a gaze that made her instinctively step backward. ""Until I say otherwise, this child stays under my personal protection. Anyone who dares enter her room without my clearance will not live to see the sunrise.""
Luca left the study and walked up the grand staircase. In the spacious nursery, Mia was already tucked into the enormous four-poster bed. The yellow raincoat hung neatly on a wooden valet, and her worn rabbit sat propped against the silk pillows. When Luca stepped into the room, he saw she was not asleep; she was holding a half-eaten dinner roll, carefully wrapping the remaining half in a paper napkin.
""Why are you hiding that, Mia?"" Luca asked gently, pulling a chair beside the bed.
Mia looked up, her voice a quiet whisper. ""For Mommy. When she gets sick, she doesn't have money for bread. I wanted to save it for when you take me back to her.""
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Luca felt a knot tighten in his throat—a sensation he had not experienced in fifteen years of mafia warfare. He reached out and brushed a stray lock of dark hair from her forehead. ""You don't need to save scraps anymore, little one. Tomorrow, I will find your mother. And nobody in this world will ever let either of you go hungry again.""
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