Chapter 7
BELLE
Imust be dreaming, for I wake up to a delighted, bubblegum kind of laughter that bounces down the hallway and crawls under my door.
I wonder if I died and went to heaven, 'cause there's no way happiness like this exists in a mob mansion.
For a second, I lie there confused, brain still booting, sheets warm, and the ring still heavy like a smug little asteroid.
The giggle happens again, higher this time, conspiratorial, and something scrapes along wood.
A soft whuff follows. Dog? Child? Demon with a cold?
I wonder what the hell kind of alternate universe I've woken up in.
I sit up. "Hello?"
A small voice outside the door: "Shhh, Bruno, you're blowing our cover."
Okay. Not a demon.
A kid with an accomplice.
I know the dog already. But… a kid?
I grab the robe off the chair and crack the door open.
That goddamn goofball of a Great Dane meets me nose-first.
Bruno's slobbering all over, with that face like a horse fell in love with a teddy bear.
His huge head tilts as he licks my cheeks, then decides I pass the vibe check and leans his full trust-fund weight into my shins.
"Whoa there, buddy, we've got to stop meeting like this."
I plant a hand on the doorframe because being taken out by a dog before coffee is not how I want my obituary to read.
The little girl next to him beams up at me.
She's small, maybe around six, and has her hair in two dark buns like a superhero on recess.
She's also missing one front tooth, and her smile could get the toughest man on the planet to promise her whatever she wants.
"Hi," she whispers shyly. "I'm Sofia. This is Bruno. We were bored, so we are going on a mission."
"A mission, huh?" I ask, wondering what the hell's going on. Who is this kid?
"Daddy says you're gonna be my new mommy." She says it like she's announcing the weather, matter-of-fact and vaguely suspicious. "But Ms. Greta said that's only if you survive the honey moon."
My brain short-circuits. "The honeymoon?"
"Yeah. She was on the phone and said 'if that poor girl survives the honeymoon with the Beast, she'll deserve a medal.'"
Sofia attempts air quotes, her tiny fingers not quite getting it right.
"What's a honey moon? And why wouldn't you survive it? Are there bears?"
My heart misfires.
Her daddy… WHAT?
Holy shit on a stick.
Luca has a kid.
My fiancé has a kid.
Mafia Don just went all dad-mode on me, and I am so not prepared.
"Sofia?" Luca's voice floats down the hallway, soft and gentle.
Something in me melts at the adoration in his voice. Emotional whiplash is my new full-time job.
I step fully into the hall, just to make sure it's the Beast of New York I hear doing that full-fledged dad voice.
Yuuup… it's him alright.
Luca comes into view in a soft gray henley and black joggers, sleeves shoved up, forearms tanned and corded.
He looks… casual. Like he slept. Like he's human.
His face is unshaven, hair mussed in a way that would make a stylist weep, and there's a careful gentleness in his eyes I haven't seen since he spread me open with his—
Abort. Kid present. Brain off, Belle.
"Belle," he says. "You're awake."
"Uh, yeah." My eloquence, ladies and gentlemen. Give it a round of applause.
The little girl tugs at Luca's pants. "Is this her, Daddy? Is this your princess?"
My cheeks burn hot enough to fry an egg. Princess? What exactly has Luca been telling his daughter about me?
Luca clears his throat. "Sofia, this is Belle. Belle, this is my daughter, Sofia."
"Hi," Sofia says, giving me a shy smile. "You're pretty."
"Thanks, you too." I smile. She's a miniature version of Luca, except for her eyes. Those must have come from her mother.
My eyes sweep over to Luca.
He'd be terrifying if not for the fact he's carrying a pink backpack in one hand and a chewed-up tennis ball in the other.
The mental image of the Beast packing snacks and Band-Aids is like thinking of a tiger knitting.
My brain doesn't know where to file it.
"I didn't know you had a daughter," I whisper to him.
"There's a lot you don't know about me, Belle," he whispers back, before clearing his throat.
"Here, Sofia." He sets the bag down.
Sofia grabs the backpack from Luca. "Thanks, Daddy."
"Anytime, baby."
Sofia lifts her backpack like a trophy and tugs on my robe.
"Do you want to see my room? It has a princess bed and Bruno sleeps with me sometimes even though Daddy says he's not supposed to."
I look at Luca, who gives a slight nod. "Sure," I tell Sofia. "I'd love to."
She grabs my hand with her tiny one and starts pulling me down the hall.
Bruno trots behind us, and I can feel Luca's eyes on my back as we go.
Sofia's room is like stepping into a different world—one with pink walls, glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, and stuffed animals everywhere.
"This is where I sleep," she says proudly, pointing to a canopy bed that does indeed look fit for a princess. "And this is where Bruno sleeps."
She points to a massive dog bed that Bruno immediately flops onto with a contented sigh.
"It's beautiful," I tell her, and I mean it.
There's something heartbreaking about this little pocket of childhood innocence tucked away in Luca Moretti's world of violence.
"Do you like dogs?" Sofia asks, scratching Bruno behind the ears.
"I'm more of a cat person," I admit. "I have a cat named Meatball."
Her eyes go wide. "Meatball? That's a funny name!"
"He's a funny cat."
"Is he coming to live here too?"
The question catches me off guard. "Actually, yeah. He's supposed to arrive today."
Sofia claps her hands together. "Can I meet him? Please?"
Before I can answer, Luca appears in the doorway. "Sofia, I'm sorry baby, but I need to take a call. It's important."
Sofia's face falls. "But you promised we'd walk Bruno together."
"I know, princess. I'm sorry. This won't take long."
Luca runs a hand through his hair, looking torn like ribbons. My heart, the traitor, does a dumb swoop-dive thing in my chest.
An idea pops into my head before I can think better of it. "I could take her."
Both of them look at me like I've just suggested we rob a bank.
"For a walk with Bruno," I clarify. "While you take your call."
Luca watches my face the way a man watches a bomb he hopes won't go off. "You sure?"
Then his phone buzzes. Once. Twice. A third time, hard.
Luca hesitates. It's only a second, but I feel it—a small, silent war I can't see.
He glances at Sofia, then at the phone, then at me again, like I'm a test he wants to pass.
"You sure?" he asks, and the question isn't permission. It's trust held out like something delicate.
I nod. "I mean, unless Bruno's trained to eat me."
Sofia perks up. "He only eats socks."
"Fair," I say. "Valid diet."
"Alright then." Luca's face softens. He holds out the ball and the leash.
When our fingers brush, a spark jumps straight into my bloodstream and does the Electric Slide.
Don't be obvious, Belle. Don't blush. Don't—
"Text me if anything—" he starts.
"I'll press 1," I say, because he told me that stupid shortcut on the new phone he gave me, and it lives in my head rent-free. "You're speed-dialed."
Something like a smile ghosts over his mouth. He looks at Sofia. "Pumpkin? Listen to Belle."
"I will, Daddy," she says seriously.
Luca leaves, and Sofia jumps up and down, watching me with expectant eyes.
Twenty-four hours ago, I was contemplating whether to become this man's wife.
Now I'm about to babysit his kid? Life comes at you fast.
Outside, the late morning sun bathes the estate grounds in golden light.
Sofia skips ahead with Bruno, who trots along like he's used to matching his pace to hers.
"Daddy says you're going to be my new mommy," Sofia announces.
I nearly trip over my own feet. "He... said that?"
She nods, her dark ponytail bouncing. "He said you're going to get married. That means you'll be my mommy, right?"
Jesus Christ. I am not prepared for this conversation.
"You're right," I admit.
"Do you like him?"
"Who?"
"My daddy, of course."
My heart nearly gives way. Do I like him? She's a kid… the answer should be a hard yes.
But he's the man who essentially bought me to pay off my father's debt.
The same man who makes my heart race and knees weak.
"He's... interesting," I say carefully.
Sofia giggles. "No he's not… He's boring."
We walk in silence for a moment, following a winding path. Bruno stops to sniff at every bush.
"I didn't have a mommy for a long time," Sofia says suddenly. "She went to heaven when I was a baby."
My heart twists. "I'm sorry to hear that."
She shrugs, putting on a brave face. "It's okay. I don't remember her. But sometimes Daddy gets sad when he looks at her pictures."
My throat tightens. This little girl lost her mother, and her father is a man who breaks bones before breakfast.
What kind of life is that? What kind of life am I signing up for?
But then Sofia takes my hand, her fingers tiny and trusting in mine, and I think maybe…maybe, I could be something good in their world of sharp edges.
"Do you want to see something cool?" Sofia tugs me toward a stone path that branches off to the right.
She leads me to a small gazebo overlooking a koi pond. "This is my thinking spot. When I'm sad or mad, I come here and watch the fish."
"It's beautiful," I say.
"You can come here too, if you want," she offers, her voice serious. "When you need to think."
Her generosity amazes me. This little girl, who's known me for all of thirty minutes, is already sharing her special place.
"Thank you," I tell her. "That's very kind of you."
She beams up at me, and something in my chest shifts—a protective instinct I didn't know I had rising to the surface.
What would it be like to be a part of this little girl's life? To be the stepmother she clearly wants?
The thought sends a wave of panic through me. I'm not cut out for this.
I can barely take care of my own disaster of a life, let alone help raise someone else's kid.
But looking at Sofia's bright eyes and trusting smile, I can't help but feel a pull toward her.
"Race you back to the house?" she suggests, already taking off, Bruno galloping beside her.
I jog after them, laughing.
By the time we get back to the house, Sofia is hungry and insists we make pancakes.
I'm a disaster in the kitchen at the best of times, but how hard can pancakes be?
Turns out, very hard when you're in an unfamiliar kitchen with a six-year-old "helping."
"I think it needs more flour," Sofia says, peering into the bowl of lumpy batter.
"You think?" I eye the mixture doubtfully. It looks more like cement than pancake batter.
"Definitely," she nods with all the confidence of a master chef.
Three eggs, too much milk, and what has to be a pound of flour later, we're ready to cook.
The first pancake is a disaster—burnt on the outside, raw in the middle. The second one isn't much better.
By the fifth attempt, the kitchen is filled with smoke, and Sofia is laughing so hard she's snorting.
"I don't think cooking is my superpower," I admit, scraping another charred disk into the trash.
"That's okay," Sofia says generously. "Daddy can't cook, either. Except spaghetti. He makes really good spaghetti."
The mental image of Luca Moretti in an apron, stirring pasta sauce, is almost too much to handle.
Before I can attempt pancake number six, there's a commotion at the door.
A man in a suit, one of Luca's security guys, enters carrying a familiar cat carrier.
"Meatball!" I crouch, put my fingers through the grate. "You're here."
He meows in a voice that translates to: I will burn your world and salt the earth if you don't get me out of here.
Luca
I watch them on the hallway feed because I'm an idiot who likes to bleed the slow way.
Belle is in my kitchen with flour on her wrist, a kid at her side, a dog at her feet, and her damn cat by my fridge like it's the new king of the castle.
Sofia's laughing in a way I haven't heard in too long, and the house sounds different with it in the air.
The thought is like a knife between my ribs.
I've spent years building walls, keeping Sofia safe, keeping her separate from my world.
And now here's Belle, crashing through every defense.
Nothing scares me more than the sight of Belle making my daughter smile like that.
"She's dangerous," I mutter, but I can't look away.