The grand foyer of the sprawling Moretti Manor was so opulent that anyone who stepped inside would be instantly awestruck. Towering white marble pillars stretched toward an intricately carved ceiling, anchored by a massive crystal chandelier that cast a warm, golden glow across the hall. Yet on this chilly autumn afternoon, the air inside the mansion was suffocatingly cold.
"Stop it, please! You’re going to break his arm!"
Clara’s gut-wrenching scream shattered the quiet, echoing sharply off the cold stone walls.
On the polished marble floor, 14-month-old Baby Leo was crying so violently that his tiny body shook uncontrollably, his gasps for air growing weaker by the second. Serena Montigue, the wealthy, silk-clad fiancée of the estate's master, was casually dragging the toddler by one arm across the floor as if he were nothing more than a discarded rag doll. The little boy's face had turned from a deep flush to a terrifying shade of purple. His wails were fading into broken, pained whimpers.
Clara threw herself forward without a second thought. The 22-year-old nanny's bare feet slid across the slick marble floor. Her hands reached out, her heart pounding a single frantic prayer as sheer terror gripped her soul. For the past six months, she had cared for Leo through every meal, every fever, and every bedtime, loving the motherless child as if he were her own flesh and blood. She couldn't stand by and watch him be harmed.
But Serena was faster.
The sharp heel of Serena's crocodile-skin pump drove viciously into Clara’s stomach with brutal force.
THUD!
The sudden blow knocked every drop of air from Clara’s lungs. She crashed backward onto the hard stone floor, a sharp, burning pain exploding through her abdomen and spine. Gasping for breath and trembling from the shock, Clara ignored her own agony, blinking away her tears as she reached out toward the helpless baby once more.
Serena stood over Clara, looking down with icy, unbothered contempt. As the daughter of the prominent Montigue family, she was the woman who played the perfect, elegant debutante at charity galas—and the woman set to marry Dante Moretti, the most feared mafia syndicate chief in the city.
"You think a cheap, worthless nanny like you can tell me what to do?" Serena sneered, intentionally bringing her sharp heel down inches from Clara’s outstretched fingers. "The boy looks just like his dead mother—it disgusts me just looking at him! Once I officially become Mrs. Moretti, the very first thing I’m going to do is throw you out onto the street!"
Serena tightened her grip on Leo’s delicate wrist, yanking him another few feet across the floor. The baby’s little arm hung at a sickening, unnatural angle.
"Don't even think about running to anyone," Serena whispered, leaning down close to Clara's pale face with a chilling glare. "Nobody cares about a nobody like you. If I tell Dante the brat fell down the stairs, he'll believe me without a second thought. As for you... I’ll make sure you disappear without a trace!"
Raising her manicured hand—adorned with a massive diamond engagement ring—Serena prepared to strike the crying child across the face to silence him once and for all.
JUST THEN...
The reinforced, double oak doors at the main entrance were thrown open with a thunderous bang. A freezing autumn wind swept into the foyer, bringing with it a tall, menacing figure enveloped in absolute lethality.
The entire mansion fell into a dead, suffocating silence. Dante Moretti had returned home three hours early.
The sudden, violent slam of the heavy double doors vibrated through the marble floorboards. Serena’s hand froze mid-air, the diamond ring on her finger catching the light of the chandelier.
Standing in the entryway, framed by the cold twilight outside, was Dante Moretti.
Dressed in a immaculate, dark double-breasted suit, his tailored coat draped over his broad shoulders, Dante’s presence commanded a suffocating authority. His dark hair was combed back, but a few loose strands fell over a face carved from granite. His sharp, hazel eyes swept across the room—first taking in the crying toddler lying helplessly on the floor, then Clara, bruised and gasping on her knees, and finally Serena, her hand still raised above the child.
Serena’s cruel demeanor evaporated in a fraction of a second. The chilling sneer on her face dissolved into a look of wide-eyed innocence and trembling affection. She quickly lowered her hand, dropping to her knees beside Leo and attempting to scoop him into her arms.
"Dante! Oh, thank goodness you're home early!" Serena wailed, her voice instantly switching to a sweet, dramatic tremor. "It's awful! I came in to check on Leo, and this incompetent nanny had dropped him! I was just trying to soothe him, but she started screaming and acting hysterical!"
Leo, hearing Serena’s voice close to him, recoiled in terror, his tiny body shuddering as he buried his face against the cold floor, sobbing inconsolably.
Dante didn't say a single word. His heavy leather boots made a slow, deliberate click... click... click... against the marble as he walked into the center of the foyer. The ambient temperature in the room seemed to plunge into freezing territory.
He bypassed Serena completely, kneeling down beside his son. With surprising gentleness from hands that held absolute power over the city's underworld, Dante cradled 14-month-old Leo against his chest. He supported the boy's head, his thumb lightly stroking the toddler's tear-stained cheek. As soon as Leo felt his father's familiar, secure warmth, his frantic screams softened into ragged, exhausted gasps against Dante's neck.
Dante’s eyes narrowed as his hand lightly brushed Leo's left arm. The toddler winced sharply, letting out a soft whimper. Dante’s gaze shifted to the unnatural angle of the child's wrist—and the faint, red pressure marks shaped like fingernails digging into the delicate skin.
From the floor, Clara forced herself up onto her elbows, ignoring the searing pain in her stomach. Tears streaming down her face, her voice broke through the quiet room.
"Mr. Moretti... please..." Clara sobbed, looking directly at Dante with desperate, unyielding truth in her eyes. "She's lying. She dragged Leo by his arm because he wouldn't stop crying. She's been hurting him whenever you aren't here... She kicked me when I tried to stop her!"
"You ungrateful, lying snake!" Serena shrieked, scrambling to her feet and turning to Dante with hands trembling in theatrical outrage. "Dante, don't listen to her! She's trying to cover up her own neglect! Why would I ever hurt your son? I love him like he's my own! You know me!"
Dante slowly stood up, holding Leo securely in his left arm. He turned his head toward Serena.
His face was an unreadable mask of stone, but the vein pulsing at his temple and the terrifying, predatory fire in his eyes betrayed the truth: the king of the Moretti empire was consuming himself with absolute rage.
He stepped closer to Serena, his tall frame looming over her.
"You love him?" Dante’s voice was dangerously low, a soft, raspy whisper that sounded far more terrifying than a roar.
"Yes! Of course I do!" Serena pleaded, reaching out to touch Dante's arm.
Before her fingers could graze his suit, Dante’s right hand shot out like a striking viper, locking around Serena’s wrist with a bone-crushing grip.
Serena gasped, her breath catching as the color instantly drained from her face. "D-Dante... you're hurting me..."
"These marks on my son's arm," Dante whispered, his eyes locking onto hers with lethal intensity, "match the size of your hand, Serena."
He pulled her closer until her terrified face was inches from his.