CHAPTER 2

Alessandra's POV

The smell of floor wax and lavender disinfectant always made my head spin first thing in the morning. By 6:00 AM, the servants’ quarters of the Rossi mansion were already buzzing with activity. No one had time for pleasantries. Here, you were either working or you were invisible. I preferred being invisible.

"Alessa, stop daydreaming and grab the bucket," Mrs. Gable’s sharp voice cut through my thoughts. She was the head housekeeper, a woman whose face seemed permanently etched with disapproval. "The young master’s playroom needs to be spotless before his morning lessons. Move it."

"Yes, Mrs. Gable. Right away," I said, keeping my voice soft and compliant.

I grabbed the heavy plastic bucket and a fresh pack of microfiber cloths, keeping my head down as I walked through the grand corridors of the main wing. My heart did a nervous little flutter with every step I took closer to the third floor.

The playroom.

It was the one place in this massive fortress where I could occasionally catch a glimpse of Leo. For the past three weeks, I had only seen him from a distance—usually when his nanny wheeled him past the courtyard or when he was being carried to the dining room. I had never been in the same room with him for more than a few seconds.

When I pushed the double doors of the playroom open, the sheer scale of the room always pinched my chest. It was huge, filled with custom-made wooden toy train tracks, bookshelves packed with educational materials, and a massive glass window overlooking the manicured gardens. But it felt cold. It looked more like a high-end preschool showroom than a room meant for a three-year-old child to get messy in.

I knelt on the plush cream carpet and began wiping down the lower shelves, dusting off pristine wooden blocks. My mind kept drifting back to last night in the kitchen. The warmth of Vincenzo’s hand, the quiet gravity of his voice, the way he looked at me like he was trying to solve a puzzle. I had barely slept, terrified that he would ask Mrs. Gable about the night-shift maid with the thick glasses.

The sound of soft, shuffling footsteps at the doorway made me stiffen.

I looked up, my hands freezing over a wooden toy car.

A middle-aged woman in a crisp nanny uniform walked in, holding a little boy by the hand.

Leo.

My chest tightened so hard it actually physically hurt. Up close, he was even more beautiful. He wore a tiny navy-blue sweater and khaki trousers. His dark hair was perfectly combed, but his face had that same serious, guarded expression his father always wore. There was no toddler excitement in his eyes as he looked at his massive mountain of toys. He looked... lonely.

"Sit here, Young Master. I will fetch your warm milk," the nanny said, her tone professional but entirely devoid of warmth. She patted a small leather armchair. "Do not touch the paints today. Your father is coming up later to check your progress."

Leo didn't argue. He just sat down, his tiny legs dangling off the edge of the chair, staring blankly at his shoes.

The nanny glanced at me, her nose upturning slightly. "Make sure you stay out of his way while you clean."

"Of course," I whispered.

The moment the nanny’s footsteps faded down the hall, the silence in the room became incredibly heavy. I kept my back to him, pretending to scrub the baseboard, but my reflection in the glass window allowed me to watch him.

Leo slid off the chair. He walked slowly toward the shelf right next to where I was kneeling. He reached for a red wooden fire truck, but his small fingers slipped.

The truck clattered to the floor, the wheel popping off and rolling right stop against my knee.

Leo froze. He looked at the broken wheel, then looked up at me, his wide gray eyes suddenly filling with fat, silent tears. He didn’t cry out or throw a tantrum like normal three-year-olds. He just shrank back, his shoulders trembling as if he expected to be scolded.

It broke something inside me.

Before my brain could warn me about the rules, the contracts, or the danger of being caught, my body moved on instinct. I crawled over the soft carpet, picking up the small wooden wheel.

"Hey," I murmured, my voice shaking with an emotion I desperately tried to suppress. "It's okay. Look, it’s not broken. It just popped out."

Leo watched me, his tear-stained eyelashes fluttering. He didn't pull away when I sat down cross-legged on the floor in front of him.

I aligned the tiny wooden axle and pressed the wheel back into place with a soft *snap*. I held the truck out to him on my palm, giving him a small, encouraging smile. "See? All fixed. Good as new."

Leo stared at the truck, then slowly reached out his hand. His tiny, warm fingers brushed against mine as he took the toy. A jolt of pure electric warmth shot straight through my veins, settling deep into my chest. This was my baby. The boy I had dreamed of holding for three long, agonizing years.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice so tiny and sweet it made my eyes sting.

"You're welcome, Leo," I softy replied, forgetting for a split second that I wasn't supposed to know his name.

He didn't seem to mind. Instead of running away, he sat down right on the carpet across from me, clutching the truck. He looked up at my face, his eyes focusing on my thick glasses. "Your glasses are funny."

I let out a soft, genuine laugh, the first real laugh I had experienced in years. "They are, aren't they? They help me see better."

"My daddy has gray eyes like me," he offered, spinning the wheels of the truck. "But he doesn't wear glasses."

"He has very strong eyes," I whispered, reaching out to gently nudge a stray lock of black hair away from his forehead. It was the same gesture Vincenzo had done to me last night, but this time, it was filled with a mother's desperate, overflowing love.

Leo didn't flinch. He leaned slightly into my touch, his little hand reaching up to touch the fabric of my apron.

For a few beautiful, suspended seconds, the Rossi mansion vanished. The syndicate, the money, and the lies didn't exist. It was just me and my son.

Then, the heavy wooden doors of the playroom creaked open.

A tall, dark shadow fell over both of us, blocking out the morning sunlight streaming through the window.

I looked up, the breath completely dying in my throat.

Vincenzo stood at the entrance, his hands buried deep in his trouser pockets, his piercing gray eyes locked onto the two of us sitting together on the floor.