Chapter Five #2
“I think her brain’s stuck,” my daughter says helpfully. “It’s called Moore’s Second Chance Sanctuary. We have lots of different animals, but sometimes they die because their owners are mean to them. Like how stupid Eric and his stupid face was mean to my friend.”
That snaps me out of it.
“Sorry,” I mutter, heat rushing into my cheeks. “Um, yes. You’re all more than welcome to come. It starts at nine tomorrow morning and will last most of the day.”
“Mama says we can take turns riding some of the horses and help get Bobcat Billie’s food ready,” Livy adds. “But we can’t go near her. She’s blind and very mean. She always hisses at me when she hears me coming. But I think it’s because she’s scared.”
“Honey, even if she wasn’t blind, she would still hiss,” I say with a small chuckle. “She’s wild, remember? Not a house pet.”
“Excuse me,” the principal cuts in. “Did we forget what this meeting was about? I’m going to have to ask you to take your daughter and leave, Ms. Moore.”
“Yes, we’ll be going,” Mr. Moretti says.
“Oh, not you,” the principal says quickly. “Sabrina didn’t do anything. She’s allowed to stay.”
“What about Eric?” I ask. “Are his parents on their way to pick him up?”
“We watched the camera feed, and Eric never touched anyone,” she says. “But that’s all I can discuss with you since you’re not family. Come on, Sabrina. I’ll take you back to class.”
Sabrina’s small body stiffens.
Mr. Moretti’s expression doesn’t change.
But the air in the room does.
It goes colder somehow. He still looks calm. Polished. Controlled. But there’s something beneath it now. Something lethal and patient.
The kind of anger that doesn’t need to raise its voice because it already knows it will be obeyed.
Very sexy.
“Ms. Moore,” he says, never taking his eyes off the principal. “Would you be so kind as to take our girls outside and wait for me?”
Not wanting to stay here a second longer, I nod.
He lowers Sabrina carefully to the floor and smooths a gentle hand over the top of her hair.
“Go with your friend and her mother,” he tells her. “I’ll be outside in just a moment, and I’ll take you home.”
“Okay, Don,” Sabrina whispers. “Grazie.”
“You’re welcome, piccola.”
“Can you teach me how to speak Italian?” Livy asks Sabrina as I usher them out of the room.
“You and I need to have a talk,” I hear Mr. Moretti say behind me.
“Of course,” Sabrina says to Livy. “I don’t know a whole lot because I wasn’t born where the Don and my papa was, but I do know some.”
“Where were you born?” Livy asks as we reach my car.
“In the back, girls,” I say, opening the door for them.
“New York,” Sabrina answers as they climb in.
“Then why was that jerk saying you aren’t American?” Livy asks.
“Because a lot of my family is from Italy,” Sabrina says softly. “I was born here, but a lot of the other kids at the estate weren’t.”
Livy goes quiet for a second.
Then she huffs.
“That’s dumb.”
Sabrina blinks at her.
“You were born here,” Livy says, like that settles everything. “And even if you weren’t, he still doesn’t get to spit on you. This is supposed to be the land of the free.”
I close the door and take a deep breath.
I’m not sure what my next step is with this school, but I do know one thing for sure.
Mr. Moretti is not the kind of man who lets someone spit on his family and walk away with nothing more than a note sent home.
Sabrina kept calling him Don.
At first, I thought it was his name. Don Moretti.
But then she said the Don.
So now I’m wondering if the rumors are true about the large estate out in the desert.
Is it really the home of the Italian Mafia?
Their leader is called the Don, right?
Pulling my phone out, I do a quick search for ‘Italian Mafia family in Palm Springs’.
And right there, in the first image I see, is Mr. Moretti standing next to a man all of Palm Springs knows.
Spike.
The Iron Shadows MC president.
“Spike hates that picture.”
Screaming, I drop my phone and spin toward the voice.
Mr. Moretti stands a few feet away, looking far too amused for a man who just scared ten years off my life.
“I was just…” I start, then immediately stop because my brain has decided words are optional again. “I mean, I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s alright, bella,” he says with a soft chuckle, bending to pick up my phone. He hands it back to me. “There’s nothing wrong with gathering information.”
“My name is Mia, not Bella,” I tell him. “Or Amelia, if you prefer.”
His mouth curves.
“So it is,” he murmurs.
Before I can decide whether that was an apology or a promise, he turns his attention to our girls.
Well, his girl.
“Eric is to be expelled, and your daughter can return to school first thing Monday morning,” he informs me.
“I’m sorry?”
“I donate a large sum of money to this school, Ms. Moore. They have been encouraged to seek the truth and have discovered that Eric did, indeed, spit in Sabrina’s face.
” His expression remains calm, but his eyes do not.
“All it took was for them to actually watch the feed, which they lied about doing.”
My fingers tighten around my phone.
Of course they lied.
Of course they were ready to punish Livy before doing the bare minimum to protect the little girl who had actually been hurt. The boys' family probably brings them a lot of money as well.
“Call me Mia,” I say. “And, um, thank you. I wasn’t sure where to go from here.”
He nods once.
“Your daughter is very strong-willed.”
“You have no idea,” I say with a smile.
He chuckles and takes a step closer.
Not close enough to be inappropriate, but close enough that I notice the clean, expensive scent of him. Something dark and warm, like spice, leather, and trouble wearing a tailored suit.
“Thank you for watching my niece,” he says. “I look forward to seeing your sanctuary tomorrow.”
“Oh, you don’t have to come simply because she asked,” I say, feeling heat rush into my cheeks. “My daughter can be forward, and it sometimes makes it hard for people to say no.”
“Tomorrow,” he says.
Just that.
One word.
Not knowing what else to say, I open the door for Sabrina.
“Can we have a horse, Don?” she asks as soon as she’s standing beside him.
“No,” he says gently. “We don’t have a place set up for a horse.”
“We could build one,” she says hopefully. “I know how to use a hammer.”
“Let’s start by visiting your friend’s animals tomorrow, and we’ll go from there.”
Her face brightens like he’s just given her the world instead of a polite maybe.
“Say goodbye to your friend,” he tells her softly. “We need to head home to your papa. He’s worried and angry that he couldn’t come to you himself.”
“Well, he would’ve been able to if he wasn’t on guard duty.”
“Indeed.”
“Bye, Livy. I can’t wait to see your farm tomorrow.”
“Me too,” Livy says excitedly. “I can’t wait to show you how to braid the horses’ manes.”
“Be good for your mama, Olivia,” Mr. Moretti tells my daughter. “Thank you again for protecting my family when I couldn’t.”
“You’re welcome,” she says proudly. “I was pretty brave, huh?”
“The bravest,” he says with a soft chuckle. “See you tomorrow, little one.”
“Bye, Livy,” Sabrina says. “Bye, Ms. Livy’s mama.”
I smile despite myself. “Bye, Sabrina.”
“Tomorrow, bella,” Mr. Moretti says with a nod before leading Sabrina away.
I stare after him far longer than a normal person should.
“Why were you so quiet, Mama?” Livy asks. “You’re never that quiet.”
She’s not wrong.
I’ve never been tongue-tied before.
Not once.
I look down at my phone, then back toward the man walking away with Sabrina’s small hand tucked safely in his.
Who are you, Mr. Moretti?
***
By eight-thirty, I’m already ready for a nap.
Even though the morning is already warm enough to make sweat gather at the back of my neck, my fingertips are white where they curl around the clipboard.
Raynaud’s doesn’t care that it’s Palm Springs.
Cold is usually the enemy, but stress can be just as bad. And right now, between the fundraiser, the animals, the vendors, the donation goal, and one dangerously handsome man possibly bringing half the Italian Mafia to my sanctuary, my body has apparently decided we are under attack.
“Mama!”
I drop my hand from my face and turn to find Livy marching toward me with a paper cup in each hand and the kind of expression that tells me I’m about to be parented by someone who still asks me to check under her bed for spiders.
“You’re doing the finger thing,” she says.
“I am not doing the finger thing.”
“You were rubbing your hand and touching your nose.”
“Maybe my nose itched.”
“Did it?”
“No.”
She narrows her eyes.
I take the cup she holds out to me.
“What is this?”
“Warm tea,” she says. “Rory said coffee makes you shaky when you’re already nervous.”
“Rory talks too much.”
“Rory’s smart.” She points at the cup. “Drink.”
I take a sip because arguing with my daughter early in the morning feels like a battle I will not win. Warmth slides down my throat, and I hate that it helps almost immediately.
Livy smiles, smug as anything.
“There. Now your fingers won’t fall off before people get here.”
“That happened one time,” I mutter.
“Mama.”
“Fine. Too dark?”
“A little.”
“Noted.”
She pats my arm, then turns like she has thirty employees and three board meetings to handle before lunch.
Her fundraiser shirt hangs a little loose on her shoulders, the pale green fabric almost swallowing her whole, but she wears it proudly.
The back says Every Life Deserves Another Chance, and there’s a little hoofprint beneath it.
She designed that part herself.
“I’m checking the grooming station again,” she announces. “Sky sneezed on the brushes.”
“Sky sneezed near the brushes.”
“Same thing.”
“It’s not.”
“She has germs.”
“She’s a horse.”
“Exactly.”
Before I can argue with that deeply scientific reasoning, she hurries back toward the barn, her ponytail bouncing with every step.
My sweet, fierce girl.