Chapter Five
Mia
“I’m sorry, could you please repeat that?”
“You need to come pick up your daughter because she started a fight.”
I take a moment to process the words.
A fight?
Olivia?
My Olivia, who cries when a moth gets trapped in the porch light?
“What was the fight over?” I ask, already grabbing my keys.
“The cause isn’t the issue, Mrs. Moore,” the woman says, her tone clipped. “The fact of the matter is, Olivia shoved another student, and he got hurt.”
“I beg to differ,” I say, trying my best to keep my anger in check. “If Olivia shoved someone, there was a very good reason behind it.”
“Mrs. Moore –”
“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
I end the call before she can say anything else, because right now, I don’t trust my mouth to behave.
“Rory, I have to head out,” I tell him, grabbing my purse from the counter. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, but I’m not sure how long it’ll be. Don’t forget the wildlife rescue team is coming by today to pick up the tortoises. If they have any questions for me, just call.”
“Everything alright, ma’am?”
“I have to go pick up Livy. I guess she shoved someone.”
Rory blinks once.
“Kid probably deserved it.”
Despite the panic twisting in my stomach, a small laugh slips out of me.
“What?” he says with a shrug. “Miss Olivia doesn’t go around shoving people for fun. Take your time. I have everything here under control.”
I don’t have a single doubt that he does.
Rory has been with me long enough to know the routine, the animals, and the million tiny emergencies that can pop up in a day. He may not own this place, but he cares about it like he does.
Nodding my thanks, I get into my car and head toward the school.
It takes a little over ten minutes to get there, and I spend every single one of them trying to get my emotions under control before I storm into that building and demand to know why they’re accusing my daughter without giving me the full story.
Because Livy is a lot of things.
Soft-hearted.
Stubborn.
Too brave for her own good.
But mean?
Never.
So, if my daughter shoved someone, I want to know what happened in the seconds before her hands ever touched him.
“Mrs. Moore,” the principal greets.
“It’s Ms.,” I remind her. “Where’s my daughter?”
“She’s in the detention hall,” she tells me. “Follow me.”
The detention hall?
My stomach drops, and my mind immediately fills with images of my sweet girl sitting in a room meant for kids who misbehave, tears in her eyes, shoulders curled inward, scared and alone.
By the time we reach the door, my anger has sharpened into something cold.
But when I walk into the room and see Livy standing there with her chin high, her eyes dry and full of determination, and her arms crossed tightly over her chest, I freeze.
Just for a second.
Because my daughter doesn’t look sorry.
She doesn’t look scared.
She looks furious and ready to do it again.
“Mama,” she says when she notices me.
But she doesn’t move from her spot.
It’s only then that I notice the younger girl hiding behind her, one small hand clutching the back of Livy’s shirt.
My chest tightens.
“Baby,” I say gently, lowering my voice. “What’s going on? I was told you shoved someone.”
“I did,” she says with a firm nod, her arms still crossed. “And if I see his stupid face again, I’ll do it again.”
The principal makes a sharp sound behind me, but I ignore it.
“Okay,” I say, kneeling in front of Livy. “I can see something big happened.”
“It did, Mama,” she says, her voice trembling now, but not with fear. With fury. “And it was more than something big. It was something rude and hateful and just plain mean.”
I nod, keeping my face calm even though every protective instinct I have is starting to wake up and stretch its claws.
“Then tell me what happened,” I say softly. “Start from the beginning.”
“We were at recess,” she says. “I was playing jump rope with my friend Sabrina. She’s in third grade, but today we had recess at the same time.”
The little girl behind Livy shifts, but she doesn’t come out from behind her.
“Anyway,” Livy continues, her voice getting sharper, “Eric and his stupid face kept calling her an alien and saying she needed to go back to her own land because she was eating all his American food and playing on his American ground.”
My stomach twists.
“We tried to ignore him,” she says, her eyes filling with angry tears now. “But he wouldn’t stop, Mama. He kept saying horrible, mean things to her, and it was making her so sad.”
I glance at Sabrina.
Her little chin wobbles, and she looks down at the floor.
Then Livy’s arms drop, but her hands curl into fists at her sides.
“Then, and this is the part that really made me mad, he spit in her face.”
Every bit of air leaves my lungs.
“He got so close to her,” Livy says, her voice shaking harder now, “and then he spit on her. So I pulled her behind me, and I shoved his stupid face to the ground.”
The principal shifts behind me, but I don’t take my eyes off my daughter.
“I’m not sorry either, Mama,” Livy says, lifting her chin higher. “I’m not sorry his elbow hit the ground so hard it started bleeding. He was mean, and he deserved it.”
For a moment, I can’t speak.
Because as a mother, I know I’m supposed to tell her violence is never the answer.
But as a human being?
I have to take a second to make sure the proud smile trying to crawl onto my face stays buried where the principal can’t see it.
“That was very brave of you,” I tell Livy honestly. “Defending your friend was the right thing to do.”
“Violence is not tolerated at this school,” the woman behind me says. “No matter the reason. What your daughter did was uncalled for. She did not have to put her hands on that boy for any reason whatsoever. Your daughter is expelled.”
“I disagree,” a deep, accented voice says.
The words roll through the room like thunder wrapped in silk.
Standing, I turn to put a face to the voice, only to freeze.
A man stands in the doorway, his shoulders nearly as wide as the frame, the sharp lines of an expensive black suit doing absolutely nothing to soften the danger pouring off him. If anything, the tailored fabric only makes him look more powerful. More controlled.
More untouchable.
His dark hair is long enough to be slicked back into a neat tie at the base of his neck, and a short beard frames his jaw.
His eyes are dark.
Not brown, exactly.
Darker than that.
The kind of dark that makes a person feel like he sees too much and forgets nothing.
And right now, every bit of that terrifying focus is aimed at the principal.
“What Ms. Moore did for my niece was very much called for,” he says, his voice calm enough to be frightening. “I would like you to set up a meeting with me and Eric’s parents. As soon as possible.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Moretti,” the principal says quickly, and I don’t miss how her entire posture changes when she says his name. “I didn’t know you were coming. But policy is policy. Violence will not be tolerated, and Ms. Moore shoved another student. I’m going to have to suspend her.”
“Do you not hear yourself?” I ask, finally shaking myself out of whatever strange spell this man has cast over the room.
Because, good grief, Mr. Moretti might be the sexiest man I have ever seen, but that is not the point.
Not right now.
Mostly.
“You just said bullying won’t be tolerated,” I continue, turning back to the principal. “But the only child you’re punishing is the one who stopped it.”
“Don,” Sabrina cries.
Before I can process the title, the little girl rushes out from behind my daughter and straight into Mr. Moretti’s waiting arms.
He catches her without hesitation.
As soon as he has her tucked beneath his chin, she starts to cry.
Not the quiet tears she’d been fighting before.
Real sobs.
The kind that shake her little shoulders and make my heart crack wide open.
Mr. Moretti’s expression changes.
Not much…but just enough.
The darkness in his eyes turns colder, but the hand he places against the back of Sabrina’s head is gentle. So gentle it almost doesn’t match the rest of him.
“Shh, piccola,” he murmurs, his accent softening around the words. “You’re safe now.”
Sabrina clutches his suit jacket in both fists.
Livy watches them, her chin still high, but her eyes are wet now too.
And for the first time since I walked into this school, I realize my daughter wasn’t just angry.
She was protecting someone who needed her.
And this man?
This terrifying, beautiful man holding a crying little girl like she’s something precious?
He knows it too.
“Thank you for helping my family, little one,” Mr. Moretti tells my daughter. “You have the heart of a true protector. What a very lucky girl my Sabrina is to have such a fierce friend.”
“You’re welcome, mister,” Livy says, her chin held proudly high. “Sabrina says she has lots of family at the big house. Can they all come to my mama’s sanctuary tomorrow for the fundraiser? We’re raising money to help feed and take care of the animals who need us. Right, Mama?”
My brain tells me I should probably stop my daughter from inviting an entire stranger’s family to our sanctuary.
Unfortunately, my brain is not currently helping my lips move.
Because when Mr. Moretti turns his full attention to me, I forget how breathing works.
Like, actually forget.
It isn’t because I’m scared.
I mean, yes, he has a dangerous air about him. The kind that makes every survival instinct sit up and ask if we should be concerned.
And it isn’t because I find him attractive.
Although, for the record, I absolutely do.
Painfully so.
It’s more than that.
I feel caught in his gaze. Held there. Trapped in one of those strange, impossible moments where the world tilts just slightly, and some quiet part of you knows nothing is going to be the same after it passes.
Dramatic?
Yes.
Accurate?
Unfortunately, also yes.
“We do indeed have a large family,” Mr. Moretti says to my daughter, though his eyes stay locked on mine. “What’s the name of your sanctuary, Ms. Moore?”
Words.
I know them.
I know how to use them.
I’ve been wording my whole life.