Chapter 8
Elara did not hesitate. She threw open the door of the SUV and ran across the chaotic courtyard, her black maid dress billowing in the cold night wind. She clutched the white baby blanket tightly, her fair, rosy skin flushed with a mixture of adrenaline and desperate maternal love. She navigated the broken gates and surrendered guards, guided only by the towering, masculine presence of Dominic waiting for her at the breached entrance.
Dominic caught her arm gently as she reached the stairs, his artistic tattoos stark against the clean white fabric of her cuffs.
“Are you prepared for whatever we might find behind those doors?” Dominic asked, his voice thick with protective concern.
“I have to see her, Dominic. Please,” Elara pleaded, her expressive eyes wide with urgency.
Dominic nodded, leading the way. They rushed down the grim, dimly lit hallway and bounded up the concrete stairs to the second floor. The facility was eerily quiet, the staff having fled or surrendered to Dominic’s heavily armed men below. They reached the heavy steel door marked ‘Room Four’.
Dominic didn't wait for a key. He raised his foot and kicked the door violently just beside the lock. The metal groaned and gave way, swinging open to reveal a stark, clinical nursery.
The room was illuminated by harsh, unforgiving fluorescent lights, a brutal contrast to the soft, elegant warmth of their mansion. Rows of metal cribs lined the walls. Elara pushed past Dominic, running frantically down the aisle, looking into every crib. Most were empty, but near the back, a small, quiet whimper broke the silence.
Elara rushed to the crib. Lying on a thin, scratchy mattress was Ivy. The three-month-old baby was crying softly, her tiny face red and distressed.
“Oh, my sweet girl!” Elara sobbed, dropping the blanket and reaching into the crib. She scooped the infant up into her arms, cradling the tiny body against her chest. She wept openly, burying her face in the baby’s soft, dark hair. “Mommy’s here. Mommy’s got you.”
Dominic walked slowly down the aisle, his polished shoes echoing loudly. He stopped beside Elara, looking down at his daughter. For the first time all evening, the cold, impenetrable mask of the mafia boss completely shattered. The high-bridged nose and sharply defined jaw softened into a look of profound, agonizing love.
He reached out a large, tattooed finger. Ivy, sensing the movement, stopped crying and wrapped her tiny, delicate hand around his finger.
“Is she unharmed, Elara?” Dominic asked, his deep voice cracking with raw emotion.
“She’s cold, and she’s hungry, but she’s okay,” Elara whispered, smiling through her tears as she quickly wrapped Ivy in the soft, warm blanket she had carried from the banquet hall.
Dominic stepped closer, wrapping his arms around both of them, pulling Elara and Ivy into his broad, solid chest. They stood there in the harsh light of the orphanage, a fractured family finally made whole.
But the tender moment was suddenly interrupted by the heavy, hurried footsteps of Dominic’s lead enforcer rushing into the nursery.
“Boss, we have a massive problem,” the enforcer said breathlessly.
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Dominic did not let go of Elara. He simply turned his head, his gaze instantly returning to cold, calculating steel.
“What could possibly be more important than this moment, lieutenant?” Dominic asked.
