Chapter 2 - The Breaking Point
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Men had emptied entire restaurants the moment Luca entered a room.
Federal judges had postponed major hearings after receiving a single, quiet phone call from his attorneys. Corporate executives who mocked the Ferraro name in the safety of their private clubs became painfully respectful, sweating through their suits, when he sat across the table from them.
But one tiny girl had entered his laundry room, dragged his expensive shirt from a hamper, and decided she could defeat imported Italian ink with cold water and sheer determination.
“Nora.”
She spun around at the sound of his deep voice.
The wooden stool rocked violently beneath her wet feet.
Luca crossed the room in two massive strides, his coat sweeping behind him, and caught her mid-air just before her head could strike the marble floor.
The wet, soapy shirt dropped with a wet slap between them.
Nora froze completely in his arms. Her enormous, tear-filled brown eyes locked onto his face, swimming with absolute terror. She knew who he was. Everyone knew to be afraid of the boss.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her chin trembling.
Luca placed her carefully on the dry section of the floor, his hands lingering for a second to ensure she was steady.
She immediately bent down, picked up the ruined shirt, and held it toward him with both shaking hands as if offering a surrender.
“Mama’s sick,” she said, her voice cracking. “She said she can’t miss work again. I can do it. I’m big.”
Something freezing cold and incredibly sharp moved through the center of Luca’s chest.
“Where is your mother?” he asked, keeping his voice as low and gentle as he could manage.
“In our room.”
The staff cottage had been renovated the previous winter into luxury suites, but Elena had refused the largest unit. She had chosen a modest, cramped apartment above the old carriage house simply because it had windows facing the kitchen garden and a small alcove where Nora could sleep safely.
“How long has she been sick, Nora?”
The three-year-old frowned, concentrating hard on the question.
“Two sleeps.”
Two days.
Luca looked past the child at the open laundry basket. Three of his shirts had been pulled out. One sleeve was currently soaking in a plastic bucket on the floor. A pair of his heavy wool trousers lay crumpled near the sink, far too heavy for Nora to lift properly, but she had clearly tried.
“Who told you to wash these?” Luca asked.
“Nobody.”
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“Did your mother ask you to do this?”
Nora shook her head quickly, her pigtails flying. “Mama said stay quiet and color. But she needs the job. Mr. Harland said people who don’t work don’t stay.”
