Chapter 5 - A Father's Protection
Three weeks passed like a fever dream.
Clara’s life transformed completely. She was moved from the small guest room into a lavish suite adjacent to Leo’s nursery. She was given a black card with no spending limit, a new wardrobe of soft silk dresses and tailored coats, and a full team of security guards who followed her and Leo whenever they left the estate.
Maids dusted the crystal chandeliers while Clara spent her mornings sitting on the plush carpet, teaching Leo how to draw again.
The change in the boy was miraculous. Within twenty days, Leo went from a silent, violent shell to a bright, laughing toddler who clung to Clara’s skirts and babbled incessantly about fire trucks and sweet warm milk.
He called her "My Clara."
One afternoon, as rain slammed against the high arched windows of the library, Rico walked in. He had been absent for three days, locked in intense meetings at his downtown club.
He looked tired. Dark circles shadowed his sharp eyes, and his tie was loosened at his throat. But the moment he saw Leo sitting on Clara’s lap, listening intently as she read from a worn picture book, the tension drained from his shoulders.
"Daddy!" Leo squealed, scrambling off Clara's lap. He ran across the room on chubby legs and threw his arms around Rico's knees.
Rico froze for a fraction of a second—unaccustomed to his son running toward him instead of away—before scooping the boy up into his massive arms. He buried his face in Leo's dark curls, breathing in the scent of baby shampoo and fresh cotton.
"Hey, little boss," Rico whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He looked over Leo's shoulder at Clara. "He called me Daddy."
Clara smiled, standing up from the armchair. "He’s missed you. He asked for you every night before bed."
Rico set Leo down, giving him a small silver toy car from his pocket. "Go play with Dante in the hall for a minute, Leo. Daddy needs to speak with Clara."
Leo happily trotted out the door, where the giant bodyguard was waiting with a goofy smile.
Rico closed the double mahogany doors and locked them. He walked over to the desk, pulled a thick manila folder from his leather briefcase, and tossed it onto the table.
Clara stepped forward nervously. "What is that?"
"Julian Vance," Rico said simply.
Clara’s heart stopped. "What did you do?"
"I didn't do anything... yet," Rico said, leaning back against the edge of the desk, crossing his arms. "My contacts in Ohio found him. It turns out Mr. Vance hasn't been sleeping well either. He's deep in debt to the Detroit syndicate, and he’s been actively searching for you to clear his name with the feds."
Clara covered her mouth with her hands, a fresh wave of panic washing over her. "If he finds out I'm here—"
"He won't find out anything," Rico interrupted, his voice dropping into a dark, commanding register. He crossed the distance between them, stopping inches from where she stood. "Because as of five o'clock this afternoon, Julian Vance’s debts have been purchased by Moretti Holdings."
Clara blinked, stunned. "You... you bought his debt?"
"I own him now, Clara," Rico murmured, reaching out to cup her cheek. His hand was warm, heavy, and possessing. "He works for me now, though he doesn't know it yet. He will never touch a hair on your head again. He will spend the rest of his miserable life paying back every cent he stole from you."
Clara looked up into Rico's sharp blue eyes. She saw no mob monster. She saw a man who had built an impenetrable wall around her, shielding her from the storms of her past.
"Why would you do that for me?" she whispered, her breath hitching as his thumb gently stroked her cheekbone. "I'm just a waitress."
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"You were a waitress," Rico corrected softly, his eyes dropping to her lips. "Now you are the reason my son smiles. You are the reason I can sleep at night without hearing gunshots. You aren't just an employee here, Clara. And if you think I’m ever letting you leave this house, you’re dead wrong."
Before she could process his words, Rico leaned down and covered her mouth with his.
