Chapter 3 - The Unforgiving Rules
Dominic’s gaze dropped from Isabella’s panicked face down to the small boy holding onto her. For a terrifying second, the dark aura around the mafia boss surged, his shoulders squaring as he stepped out of the study.
"Leo," Dominic said, his voice dangerously low, stripped of all warmth. "Get up."
Leo scrambled back, instantly dropping his arms and stepping away from Isabella as if he had been burned. He kept his head bowed, staring rigidly at the toes of his bare feet. "I'm sorry, Father. I couldn't sleep. I didn't mean to bother Mrs. Isabella."
Isabella stood up quickly, stepping instinctively between Dominic and the trembling child, despite the sheer terror clawing at her throat. "It's my fault, Mr. Moretti. I found him wandering in the hallway and stopped to comfort him. He had a nightmare."
Dominic’s dark eyes shifted to Isabella. The expression on his face was unreadable—a lethal cocktail of protective fury and profound exhaustion. He looked like a man standing on the edge of a crumbling cliff, fighting gravity with every ounce of his remaining strength.
"He does not need comforting from outsiders, Isabella," Dominic said coldly, his voice echoing off the high ceiling. "He needs discipline and routine. That is what he was taught."
"He's six years old, Mr. Moretti!" Isabella snapped before her brain could censor her impulse. The maternal rage inside her completely overrode her self-preservation instinct. "He's a child, not a soldier in your organization. He doesn't need routine; he needs kindness. He needs someone to tell him he's safe instead of living in fear of every shadow in this mausoleum!"
The silence that followed was so absolute it felt physical.
Victor, or any other underboss, would have pulled a gun or thrown Isabella out into the freezing Boston night for speaking to Dominic Moretti in such a tone. But Dominic didn't yell. He didn't erupt. Instead, a muscle in his jaw ticked violently, and he took a slow step forward, towering over her.
"You speak to me as if you know what my son needs," Dominic whispered, his voice dangerously quiet, vibrating right beside her ear as he stopped just inches away. "You think because your daughter flashed a smile and made a mess, you understand the architecture of this house? You know nothing about what keeps him alive."
"I know that love isn't a weakness," Isabella whispered back, holding her ground, refusing to shrink away from the terrifying intensity in his eyes. "And I know that locking him in a cage of rules is going to break him completely. Just like he thinks his mother broke."
Dominic flinched. The word hit him like a physical blow. His eyes flashed with a sudden, raw storm of agony before he slammed the iron gate down over his emotions once again.
He looked past Isabella down at Leo, whose small frame was shaking.
"Go to your room, Leo," Dominic commanded, his voice softer now, though still rigid. "Now."
Leo didn't hesitate. He shot one worried, terrified glance at Isabella before scurrying down the dark corridor toward his bedroom, the door clicking shut behind him with a soft, final thud.
Dominic turned his cold, piercing gaze back to Isabella. "This is your final warning, Isabella. You keep your head down, you do your job, and you keep your daughter away from my son. If I catch you in this hallway after hours again, you and Lily will be out on the street before sunrise. Do I make myself clear?"
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"Crystal clear, Mr. Moretti," Isabella said, her voice dripping with defiant frost.
She turned on her heel and walked away, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She had survived the encounter, but as she walked back to the safety of the east wing, she knew one thing for certain: she was no longer just an employee keeping a low profile. She had stepped onto a battlefield, and there was no turning back.
