Chapter 4 - The Fragile Dawn
"Is that right?" Vincent whispered, the harsh contours of his face smoothing into something reverent, almost terrified. He didn't dare reach out to touch her, keeping his hands anchored firmly at his sides as if afraid his calloused, blood-stained skin might bruise her innocence. "Faster than the wind. That must mean nobody can ever catch you unless you want them to."
Lily nodded vigorously, her dark curls bouncing. "Except you caught me. Because my shoe was slippery." She squinted at him, studying the sharp cut of his jaw, the dark stubble, and the intense silver-grey eyes that mirrored her own with uncanny precision. "Are you a prince?"
A strangled sound caught in Claire’s throat. She clutched Lily tighter against her chest, her knuckles turning bone-white. The irony was suffocating. Vincent Moretti was no prince; he was a king crowned in ash, blood, and bullet casings. Five years ago, Claire had loved him with every fiber of her being, only to be cast aside like trash when he looked her in the eyes and declared his devotion to another woman.
"No, little bird," Vincent murmured, his voice thick with emotions he had spent half a decade burying. "I’m not a prince. Not even close."
"Vincent, that’s enough," Claire interrupted, her tone sharp, cold, and defensive. She reached for the glass of water on the nightstand, handing it to Lily with trembling fingers. "Drink your water, sweetheart. Then we’re going back to sleep."
Lily took small, sleepy sips, glancing between her mother’s pale, strained face and the imposing man kneeling beside the bed. "Is he going to stay, Mommy?"
Before Claire could snap out an emphatic refusal, Vincent stood up slowly. His massive frame shadowed the room once more, the warmth evaporating into the chilling reality of who he was. "I’ll be right outside the door, Lily. Nobody will ever hurt you or your mother. I swear it on my life."
Claire looked up, her green eyes flashing with suppressed fury. "Your promises meant nothing five years ago, Vincent. They mean nothing now."
A flicker of agony crossed Vincent's dark eyes, but he offered no defense. He simply inclined his head, stepping backward toward the suite's living room. As the bedroom door clicked softly shut behind him, Claire buried her face in Lily's curls, inhaling the scent of baby shampoo and lavender, praying this nightmare was just a hallucination.
Outside, Vincent pulled out his phone. The screen illuminated his grim, murderous expression. Luca, his underboss, answered on the first ring.
"Don Moretti," Luca's voice was tense. "Valenti’s men were spotted circling the Drake three minutes ago. Word has already leaked from the airport. They know you have a girl with you. They don't know who she is yet, but Valenti is mobilizing."
Vincent felt a cold, lethal stillness settle over his chest—the dangerous calm that always preceded a massacre. "Lock down the entire floor. Call in the perimeter team. Bring the armored Suburbans to the service entrance. We move to the Lake Forest estate at sunrise."
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"And the mother, boss?" Luca asked quietly. "Is it really Claire?"
Vincent’s breath hitched in his throat, a sharp pang tearing through his ribs. "It’s Claire. And the little girl is my daughter. If so much as a stray wind touches either of them tonight, Luca... I will turn this city into a graveyard."
