Chapter 3 - UNCERTAIN HANDS
Alessandro’s sharp masculine features hardened into a mask of pure, rigid authority. His dark eyes flickered from the baby up to Elena’s trembling face.
Elena lowered her eyes, unable to hold the intense, cold gaze of the crime boss. Her voice was barely audible over the hum of the air conditioning.
"I had nowhere else to take her," Elena admitted, tears brimming in her eyes. "I couldn't afford daycare on my own... I kept her in the staff quarters behind the kitchen. She never cries, Mr. Duca... I swear she never makes a sound..."
While Elena spoke, little Mia decided she was done sitting down.
The eight-month-old reached out with her small hands, planting her palms against the smooth fabric of Alessandro’s tailored black trouser leg. Pushing with her tiny feet, she pulled herself upright, standing on her wobbling, unsteadied legs right between his shoes.
She stood for a split second before her balance gave way.
Mia wobbled sharply to the left.
Before Elena could drop the laundry basket and throw herself across the floor, Alessandro reacted with instantaneous, fluid reflex.
His broad, tattooed hands shot down, catching the baby gently around her ribs before she could touch the marble floor.
Elena stopped dead in her tracks, her breath lodging in her throat.
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Alessandro pulled the baby up toward his chest. Mia didn't cry, startle, or flinch. Instead, the moment she reached his broad chest, she snuggled her head comfortably against the lapel of his tailored black three-piece suit, casually resting her tiny hand over his heart as though she had known him her entire life.
Alessandro stood completely rigid, his arms locked in place, utterly stiff and hopelessly uncertain what to do with the tiny human resting against his suit.
