Chapter 8 - THE WARM SANCTUARY
Rachel appeared within three seconds, her hands folded neatly in front of her apron, sensing the shift in the room's gravity.
"Yes, Mr. Moretti?"
Dominic reached into his inner suit jacket pocket and pulled out a sleek, black leather wallet. He pulled out a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills—five thousand dollars in crisp, uncirculated currency—and laid it flat on the white tablecloth beside Emily’s empty water glass.
"Take Emily and the baby into the private back lounge," Dominic instructed calmly. "Have the staff bring more blankets, warm towels, and whatever else she needs. Keep them warm, keep them fed, and make sure nobody—and I mean nobody—approaches that room except you."
Rachel looked at the stack of cash, then looked at Emily with a soft, compassionate expression.
"Of course, Mr. Moretti," Rachel said gently. She walked over to the leather chair and extended a warm, welcoming hand toward the little girl. "Come with me, sweetheart. Let's get your brother a nice, warm bed to lie in."
Emily looked at the money on the table, then looked up at Dominic, her mouth opening in complete, stunned disbelief.
"Sir..." Emily stammered, fresh tears spilling over her cheeks. "Why... why are you doing this for us?"
Dominic leaned across the table, his dark features softening for a brief, fleeting second as he looked at the brave eleven-year-old girl who had walked through a blizzard to feed her brother.
"Because in my city, Emily, little girls don't beg for leftovers," Dominic said softly. "Go with Rachel. You and Noah are safe now."
Emily wiped her eyes with her frayed sweater sleeve, offered Dominic a tiny, trembling nod of gratitude, and allowed Rachel to guide her toward the private VIP suite behind the bar.
May you like
Dominic watched until the wooden door closed behind them.
Then, the warmth vanished from his face entirely.
