Chapter 3 - The Ghost of the Past
My first week at the Moretti estate was a grueling test of patience and emotional endurance.
Leo was prone to sudden, violent outbursts of grief that no one else understood.
The household staff treated him like a ticking time bomb, always bracing for the next explosion.
I refused to treat him like a monster.
I spent hours sitting on the floor with him, building block towers just so he could knock them down.
I replaced his formal, rigid wardrobe with soft, comfortable clothes that allowed him to actually play like a child.
Ricardo watched everything from the shadows.
He never interfered, but I could constantly feel his intense gaze burning into my back.
One rainy afternoon, I was walking through the west wing looking for extra blankets.
I accidentally opened the wrong door and stepped into a room that felt entirely frozen in time.
It was a woman’s dressing room, filled with glamorous silk dresses, expensive perfumes, and beautiful jewelry.
Above the vanity hung a massive portrait of a stunning blonde woman holding a newborn baby.
"Her name was Elena," a deep voice echoed from the doorway.
I jumped and spun around to see Ricardo standing there, his face completely unreadable.
"I am so sorry, I took a wrong turn," I stammered, stepping away from the painting.
"She was beautiful, wasn't she?" Ricardo asked, walking slowly into the room.
"Yes, she was," I agreed, watching the pain flicker across his dark eyes.
"She was also a traitor who sold my security routes to a rival family," he stated coldly.
My breath caught in my throat as the horrible truth washed over me.
"She tried to run away with the men who were paid to murder me, but their car was ambushed on the highway," he explained.
He looked at the portrait with absolute, burning hatred.
"Leo was in the backseat of that car, Clara," he whispered, his voice cracking slightly.
"He survived the crash, but he sat in the dark for three hours listening to his mother die," Ricardo finished.
Tears immediately blurred my vision as I finally understood the depth of the little boy's terror.
Ricardo turned his gaze away from the painting and looked directly at me.
"That is why he screams when the lights go out, and that is why I cannot look at him without seeing her betrayal," he confessed.
I stepped closer to the most dangerous man in New York and did something incredibly foolish.
I reached out and gently placed my hand against his chest.
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"He is not her, Ricardo," I whispered fiercely.
For the first time since I met him, the mafia boss did not pull away.
