Chapter 3 - The Touch of a Stranger
The tension at Table 12 was palpable, thick enough to be cut with a steak knife. Across the room, Manager Marco was wringing a linen napkin into tight spirals, his face pale as he watched the scene unfold from afar.
Matteo DeLuca did not panic. Instead, his dark eyes narrowed slightly as he scrutinized Elina. He looked at her simple, dark brown hair gathered in its messy bun, her pale skin devoid of makeup, her soft brown eyes filled with genuine concern, and the stark black-and-white of her waitress uniform.
"He won't stop," Matteo muttered, almost to himself.
Baby Leo’s small hands finally caught the tail end of Elina’s white apron string, which had been resting near the edge of the table. The moment his tiny fingers wrapped around the fabric, his sobbing reduced to hitching gasps. He pulled the fabric toward his face, clutching it with a fierce, unbelievable grip.
"Sweetheart..." Elina murmured softly, instinctively dropping her order pad onto a neighboring vacant table. She took a tiny step closer, crouching down slightly so she was at eye level with the child sitting in Matteo's lap. "It's okay. You're okay."
Matteo observed her movements like a hawk watching prey. His hand remained firm around Leo’s waist, but he didn't stop her.
"Leo, let go," Matteo said gently, his large, scarred hand reaching over to gently pry his son's tiny fingers off the waitress's apron. "Let the lady work."
The moment Matteo’s hand touched Leo's fingers to pull them back, Leo let out a sharp, piercing shriek of distress. The baby refused to let go of the fabric, his face turning red with frustration.
Matteo frowned, his jaw tightening. He carefully unclasped Leo's fingers from the apron tail, pulling the baby's hand back toward his own chest.
The reaction was instantaneous. Leo began to thrash violently, crying out with a deep, sorrowful weep that echoed through the quiet restaurant. In his panic, as his hand was pulled away, the baby reached out blindly with his left hand and snatched Elina’s thumb.
His tiny, warm hand wrapped entirely around her right thumb.
Elina gasped softly. The warmth of the baby's tiny hand sent an inexplicable, electric jolt through her core. Her thumb was completely encased in his warm, fragile grip.
The moment Leo held her thumb, his thrashing stopped.
The silence that fell over the table was profound. Leo held her thumb tightly against his small chest, breathing in heavy, shuddering hitches. He stared up at Elina, his big dark eyes blinking away tears, completely grounded by the simple physical connection with her hand.
Matteo stared at his son’s tiny hand gripping Elina’s thumb. He slowly raised his gaze from the baby’s hands, up her arm, and directly into Elina’s eyes.
For the first time, the icy, unreadable mask on Matteo’s face shattered. A flicker of genuine, shock passed across his hard features. The scar on his cheek seemed to tighten as his jaw clenched.
"Hold him," Matteo said.
The command was quiet, but it rang like thunder in Elina's ears.
Elina’s eyes widened in sheer disbelief. She blinked, looking around at the bodyguards, who looked equally stunned by their boss's order.
"Excuse me?" Elina asked, her voice hardly more than a whisper.
May you like
Matteo leaned forward slightly, his dark eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made it difficult for her to breathe. The coldness returned to his voice, masked in a thick lay of underlying tension.
"My son," Matteo repeated, his voice dropping an octave, colder, firmer, and completely non-negotiable. "Hold him."
