Chapter 3 - A Mother's Panic And A Silent Protector
The Interrogation Of Dominic Moretti"Lily!"
My cry cut through the low murmur of the restaurant like a knife. I crossed the dining room so fast the maitre d' didn't even try to stop me; the sheer, unadulterated panic radiating from my damp scrubs and wild hair made me look like a madwoman.
I dropped to my knees beside the booth, hauling my daughter into my arms. I crushed her against my chest, my hands trembling as I ran them over her head, shoulders, arms, and back. My medical training kicked in automatically—a frantic, involuntary trauma assessment.
Head. Shoulders. Hands. Knees. Shoes. Breathing. Whole.
"I’m sorry," Lily whispered into my shoulder, muffled by the wool of my coat.
I kissed her hair, tears prickling hot behind my eyelids. "What were you thinking? You took a taxi across Manhattan by yourself?"
"Mrs. Delaney fell asleep," she reasoned as if that explained everything. "And I had money."
"That is not the part of this story I’m objecting to!" My voice cracked, betraying the sheer terror that was eating me alive.
Across the table, Dominic Moretti said nothing. He watched us with an unreadable expression. His silence unnerved me more than anger would have. If he had yelled, if he had cursed us out for ruining his evening, I would have understood. But he sat there like a statue carved from granite, his cold grey eyes absorbing every detail of our frantic reunion.
When I finally pulled back, holding Lily by her shoulders to ensure she was real, I turned my tear-streaked face toward him. My voice shook.
"Mr. Moretti... I am so, so sorry. I didn't send her. I swear to God, I was at the hospital—"
"I know," he interrupted. His voice was smooth, deep, and unnervingly calm. "She told me about the bus collision on 42nd Street. She also told me about your neighbor falling asleep on the couch."
I swallowed hard, pulling Lily closer to my side. "I need to call the police. The taxi driver who picked her up—"
"The driver has already been dealt with," Dominic said smoothly, though a subtle hardening in his jaw suggested 'dealt with' meant something entirely terrifying for the unfortunate cabbie who picked up an unaccompanied minor. "He’s currently parked around the corner, waiting to verify that she gets home safely. My men escorted him here."
My breath hitched. His men?
"Mr. Moretti, we are leaving right now," I said, my protective instincts flaring into overdrive. I scooped Lily up into my arms, her red coat dragging on the floor. "Thank you for... not letting her wander into traffic. But we need to go."
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Dominic stood up slowly. He towered over me, easily six-foot-two, broad-shouldered, and radiating an effortless, lethal authority. Yet, as he looked down at Lily—who was now playing with the buttons on his shirt—his expression softened in a way that defied his reputation.
"You aren't going anywhere in the rain, Elena," Dominic said, his gaze locking onto mine with a magnetic pull I couldn't break. "And you certainly aren't walking back to a cold apartment after a twelve-hour trauma shift. Sit down. We are going to have dinner."
