PoV Riccardo
Hours spent sitting in the park could feel like wasted time. Unless, of course, the view was exceptional—and today, it was. From my bench near the playground, I watched children laughing on swings, seesaws, and in the sandbox. One little girl in particular caught my attention. She had soft brown hair and eyes to match. Despite her fair skin, she resembled a daughter of my own. Her laugh was infectious, sparking an almost primal urge to hold her close. Her mother, however, was unremarkable. Brown hair, brown eyes like her daughter’s, and glasses. They suggested intelligence, yet I doubted a truly smart woman would choose to live in this neighborhood. Crime was rampant, houses dilapidated, streets littered with garbage. Not a place to raise a child—especially not one as sweet and innocent as this girl.
I considered rescuing her from these circumstances. But how? Grabbing her and leaving would invite a fight. Her mother would likely resist, though her words would be empty threats. I could scorn her, but she watched her daughter’s every move, her gaze constantly scanning for danger. She was thin, fragile as a leaf—she wouldn’t fight, but she wouldn't relinquish her hold on her child. I assessed her body: small breasts, a figure lacking the curves I preferred. No, she’d shatter like glass under my touch. A sigh escaped my lips. Too delicate.
Suddenly, I felt eyes burning into my skin. I lifted my gaze and met her fierce stare, a surprise that jolted me. She’d noticed me watching her. Her expression was almost unreadable, as she tried to discern my motives. I forced a smile, intending to convey harmlessness, and continued to observe her. Usually, I could charm any woman, but this one was different. A tremor ran through her, before she grasped her daughter’s hand and walked away, taking my sunshine with her. Disappointment washed over me.
“Great,” I muttered sarcastically. Her flight ruined my mood. She’d taken what I wanted.
Dusk was falling. Knowing the street rats would soon emerge from their holes, I stood up and straightened my suit. The shabby area was nearly deserted now. The location was observable from three sides—not ideal for an abduction. Why hadn’t I noticed this before? Resignedly, I shook my head. How had I let myself become so distracted? Then, a little girl’s scream sliced through the air: “Mommy!” A woman’s voice followed, laced with fury: “Leave my daughter alone, you son of a bitch!”
The noise came from the direction where mother and daughter had walked moments before. My stomach clenched. *Not her.* I grabbed my gun and ran toward the sound, dreading what I’d find. A man was dragging the girl along while her mother battled two others, both twice her size. I shot the abductor, and her mother drove a knee into one kidnapper’s groin, sending him collapsing like a sack of potatoes. The other attacker seized his chance, stabbing her repeatedly before I put a bullet through his head. I then finished off the man on the ground, feeling no remorse for killing a helpless creature. My men rushed in, ready to clean up the mess. They were slow. I’d have a word with them later; carelessness was unacceptable.
“Take care of the woman and dispose of the bodies,” I instructed. Then I knelt before the fragile, terrified girl. She stared at me, her eyes wide with horror. I reached out to wipe away her tears.
“I will always protect you, *principessa*,” I murmured softly, for her ears alone. Gently, I pulled her into my arms, patting her back as she sobbed silently.
“Boss, the woman is severely injured but alive. The ambulance is on its way. We should leave,” Romano, one of my most loyal men, informed me. I nodded, then stood with the girl cradled in my arms. Carefully, I carried her to the car and settled her in the back seat. Romano took the passenger seat, while Lucius started the engine.
Suddenly, the little girl cried out, “Mommy, mommy! Where is my mommy?” Tears streamed down her face.
“Shh, *cara*. Your mother is being taken to the hospital. You cannot stay with her, so I will watch over you for now.” I stroked her small head. I would never allow her to return to her family. Her father was a failure, her mother too weak to protect her. They had no right to raise her—unlike me.
We drove to my mansion in silence, broken only by occasional sobs from the girl. I held her tiny hand in mine, reassuring her she wasn't alone.
“You have nothing to fear from us. We are not the bad guys. We will protect you,” I whispered. Romano turned around, grinning. Lucius chuckled. Yes, the big, bad mafiosi were not the bad guys. My new daughter didn’t need to know about my business—not yet. I would kill anyone who dared disrupt my pursuit of keeping her safe.
Finally, we reached the giant black gate guarding my property. The guards let us in, and we continued driving past several buildings until we stopped before the mansion. I scooped the girl into my arms and carried her inside. Her eyes, red from crying, flickered with curiosity and awe as she looked around the grand entrance hall. Mario rushed toward me, his face a mask of disbelief at the fragile body in my arms. He waited for an explanation. Someone else was less patient.
“What have you done, idiot?” My father’s voice boomed through the hall. Everyone stared at me and the trembling child buried in my chest.
“Her mother was injured and cannot care for her right now,” I explained. Seeing the girl’s sad eyes lift to mine, I added, in Italian, “*Forse non sopravviverà*. Maybe she won't survive.” My father paled. He couldn’t handle injured women—especially children. I wondered why he’d come here today. As far as I knew, we hadn’t scheduled a meeting. I hoped my mother wasn’t with him. I didn’t want that viper anywhere near my little girl.
“Well, you should put that sweet angel to bed, then we will discuss business,” my father said, his voice softening. I knew he’d always regretted not having more children—just one son, and my mother had been wounded in an accident. I’d always suspected she’d injured herself intentionally, but without proof, I kept my mouth shut.
The girl stifled a yawn. It was time to get her to bed. *Mia figlia*. Yes, my daughter. I carried her to my room and laid her on the bed. She resisted letting me go, her tiny hands gripping my shirt.
“What’s your name, *cara*?” I gently brushed her hair from her eyes.
“Isabella.” Her voice was barely a whisper.
“That’s a beautiful name, Isabella. My name is Riccardo, but you can call me *papà*.” I smiled and kissed her forehead, tucking her in.
“Sleep, my little darling. I’ll be back later.”