Chapter 4
For a moment, Sophia remained frozen against the wheels of the banquet trash cart. Her three-year-old brain struggled to process the towering figure striding across the brightly lit ballroom. The man looked exactly like the framed photograph hidden under her thin mattress in the cellar, the one she cried herself to sleep looking at every single night.
As Alexander closed the distance, the heavy, imposing mask of the ruthless mafia boss cracked for just a fraction of a second, revealing the desperate, agonizing love of a father. He stopped three paces away, ignoring the dozens of armed men and wealthy relatives staring at him in sheer disbelief. He dropped to one knee, the expensive fabric of his tailored trousers pressing into the discarded crumbs of bread, and opened his arms.
Sophia’s breath hitched. The terror and abuse of the last six months shattered in an instant.
"Daddy!" she screamed, a sound so raw and filled with desperate relief that it made several of the hardened bodyguards flinch.
She scrambled up from the floor, her tiny feet slipping on the polished marble, and ran toward him as fast as her fragile legs could carry her. She didn't care about the hundreds of eyes watching them, and she didn't care about the terrifying grandmother standing just feet away. She launched her filthy, trembling body directly into Alexander's broad chest.
Alexander caught her, wrapping his massive, powerful arms around her tiny frame. He buried his face into her messy, unwashed hair, closing his eyes as a shudder wracked his broad shoulders. He held her incredibly tight, as if trying to shield her from the very air in the room.
"I've got you, sweetheart," Alexander murmured, his deep, resonant American voice cracking slightly. "I'm right here. Daddy's right here."
Sophia clung to the lapels of his pristine three-piece suit, her soot-stained hands leaving dark smudges on the expensive wool. She buried her wet face into his neck, sobbing uncontrollably.
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"Daddy… Grandma said you died," Sophia cried, her small voice echoing through the silent, brightly colored ballroom. "She said you were never coming back to feed me."
The words hung in the air, a damning indictment delivered by the most innocent voice in the room. Alexander’s eyes snapped open. The brief moment of tender paternal relief vanished, immediately replaced by a dark, volcanic fury. He slowly lifted his head, his gaze rising from the sobbing child in his arms to the scattered, crushed pastries on the floor, and finally settling on the pale, terrified face of his mother.
