Chapter 2 - The Debt of the Morettis
Belle found her voice, though it cracked like dry wood. "Mr. Moretti... please. We don't want any trouble. We're just staff here. I... I clean the third floor. We don't need any money."
Dominic stood up, his tall figure almost touching the low basement ceiling. He turned his gaze to Belle, taking in her stained apron, her red hands, and the sheer terror radiating from her eyes.
"You think I came here to give you a tip, Miss...?"
"Dawson. Belle Dawson," she stammered.
"Miss Dawson," Dominic said, stepping closer. "Julian Ashford told me five minutes ago that he fired you for leaving your mop bucket unattended on the second-floor landing."
Belle’s heart dropped into her stomach. "He... he fired me?"
"He did," Dominic said, a cold, lethal sneer touching his lips. "He said you were careless. He said a maid who lets her son roam the upper floors isn't fit to serve his estate."
Tears of frustration welled in Belle’s eyes. "I have fifty dollars in my bank account, Mr. Moretti. This room... this room comes with the job. If I'm fired, we have nowhere to go tonight."
"You aren't staying here," Dominic said plainly.
He motioned to his men outside the door. "Marco, go upstairs and inform Julian Ashford that his shipping permits for Pier 4 have been permanently revoked. Tell him if he speaks another word to Miss Dawson, I will buy his mortgage and turn his estate into a parking lot."
Marco nodded once and vanished up the stairs.
Dominic turned back to Belle, pulling a dark leather wallet from his jacket and placing a gold-embossed card on her small wooden table.
"My daughter is waiting in the car," Dominic said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "She refuses to go to sleep tonight unless Micah comes to the North End house for dinner. My driver is outside. Pack your things."
"Mr. Moretti, we can't—"
"Miss Dawson," Dominic interrupted gently, his eyes holding a solemn, unbreakable promise. "A Moretti does not owe debts. Today, your son gave me my daughter's breath back. As long as I am alive in this city, no one will ever make you sleep in a basement again."
Ten minutes later, carrying two battered canvas bags containing all their earthly belongings, Belle and Micah walked out of the Ashford Manor into the freezing rain.
Waiting in the driveway was a convoy of three bulletproof black SUVs.
Sitting in the back seat of the middle vehicle, wrapped in a pink cashmere blanket, was little Sienna Moretti. The moment the door opened and she saw Micah, her pale face lit up.
"Micah!" Sienna cried out, kicking off her blanket and reaching her small arms out.
Micah climbed into the back seat, and Sienna immediately grabbed his hand—the exact same hand that had held her wrist twenty-three feet above the pavement—and held it tight against her chest.
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Dominic held the door open for Belle, offering his large, warm hand to help her into the leather interior.
As the SUV pulled out of the gates of Ashford Manor, leaving the dark, cruel house behind, Belle looked back through the tinted window. She didn't know it yet, but the life of poverty and fear she had endured for seven years was over—and a far more dangerous, miraculous world was opening its doors.
