Chapter 8
The private study of the Rizzano estate was a sanctuary of dark mahogany and rich leather, bathed in the same bright, natural light that filled the rest of the mansion. Alessandro opened the heavy wooden doors and stepped inside, the chaotic violence of the bridal suite left far behind him.
Livia was sitting on a large leather sofa, her small feet in white flats dangling over the edge. She was happily eating a bowl of fresh strawberries, the tears finally dried on her fair, rosy cheeks. Rosalie stood attentively nearby, her professional maid uniform immaculate despite the earlier struggle.
When Livia saw her father, she immediately set the bowl down and reached her arms out.
Alessandro crossed the room and gently scooped her up, his deeply masculine frame providing an instant fortress of safety. He sat down on the sofa, resting her on his lap. He looked closely at the right side of her head. The uneven, jagged cut left by the electric clippers was glaring, a harsh violation of her innocence.
"Does it hurt, little bird?" Alessandro asked, his raspy voice incredibly soft, filled with a tenderness he reserved exclusively for her.
"No, Daddy," Livia said, touching the uneven edge of her hair. "But it looks funny."
"We will have a very nice lady come and fix it," Alessandro promised, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "You will have a beautiful new haircut. Even better than before."
He looked up at Rosalie. The twenty-eight-year-old maid stood with her hands clasped in front of her apron, her expression anxious.
"Rosalie," Alessandro said, his tone shifting to one of profound respect. "You stepped between my daughter. And a woman who could have destroyed your life with a single word."
"It was my duty, sir," Rosalie replied, her American accent soft but steady. "I could not just stand there and let her hurt Livia. She is a sweet child. She didn't deserve that."
"Loyalty. Is a rare commodity in my world," Alessandro murmured, his cold eyes softening slightly as he looked at her. "You protected my blood. You will no longer work as a maid in this house."
Rosalie’s fair skin paled instantly. "Sir, please, I need this job. I was only trying to help—"
"You misunderstand me," Alessandro interrupted, holding up a tattooed hand to ease her panic. "You are promoted. You are now the head of my daughter's personal staff. Your salary is tripled, and you answer to no one but me. If anyone in this house disrespects you, you come directly to my office."
Rosalie gasped, her hands flying to her mouth in shock. Tears of relief welled in her eyes. "Thank you, Mr. Rizzano. Thank you so much. I will guard her with my life."
"I know you will," Alessandro said softly.
A sharp knock at the study door broke the quiet moment.
"Enter," Alessandro commanded, his voice instantly dropping back into its authoritative, dangerous cadence.
The door opened, and Dante, Alessandro's underboss and closest confidant, stepped into the room. The older man wore a sharp suit, his face grim.
"Boss," Dante said, his voice tense. "The Morettis are out of the building. But we have a major problem brewing in the ballroom."
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"Speak," Alessandro ordered, his jaw tightening.
"Bianca's father, Don Moretti, just got the call," Dante reported. "He knows the wedding is off. He has his men gathered in the east wing. They are heavily armed, Alessandro. They are demanding to see you."
