2

Alaric’s POV.

I watched the girl scurry off to the elevator, her hair falling loose from the bun it was tied in and the horrible skirt she was wearing flowing behind her.

The elevator doors closed behind her, and I watched as she disappeared, her figure swallowed up by the steel doors. I clenched my jaw, suppressing the irritation bubbling under the surface. Emilia. That woman was a complication, a thorn that hadn’t been there this morning and yet somehow had made her way into the very heart of my day.

“Are you sure she’s not Mommy?” Francesca’s voice was small, almost like she was asking herself rather than me.

I looked down at her, the tears glistening on her cheeks, her bottom lip trembling. I was used to Francesca’s questions and the way her curiosity would fixate on the strangest things, but this... this fixation on a woman she’d only just met? Unusual, even for her.

“Yes, Tesoro,” I replied, keeping my voice firm but softened just enough for her, though I could feel her slipping away from me even as I spoke. “She’s not your mother.”

“But she looked at me like Mommy would,” Francesca whispered, her hands gripping my shirt tightly as her gaze fell to the floor. A stubborn tear slipped down her cheek. She was spiraling, and I couldn’t control it. This wasn’t what I had planned. I told that woman to leave, to get out of our lives as swiftly as she’d stumbled into them.

“Come now, Francesca.” I moved forward, but she squirmed in my hold, her sobs starting to break through her small frame. She was holding back, trying to contain herself, but it was only a matter of time before this spiraled. I nodded to Allesio, who was lingering nearby, his eyes sharp, ever watchful.

“Everything okay, boss?” he asked, flicking his gaze from me to Francesca.

“For now,” I muttered, though I knew it wasn’t. Francesca’s eyes were filled with the confusion and heartbreak only a child could feel, raw and unfiltered. And for a second, I felt an unwanted pang in my chest. I was failing her in some way that I couldn’t quite articulate.

“Daddy,” Francesca whispered again, her voice broken. “Can we go back to her? Please? I want to see her again. Just once.”

“Francesca,” I sighed, feeling my patience wear thin. “We’re going home. Now.”

She stared at me, her face a perfect picture of stubbornness. I had seen that look before, often enough to know that it would take more than words to placate her. And then the inevitable happened. Her little voice broke, escalating into a full-blown wail that echoed down the hallway.

“Francesca,” I hissed, tightening my hold on her as her little fists hit my shoulder, her tiny but insistent punches landing harder than they should have for someone her size. I glanced around, half-worried that her cries might bring attention I couldn’t afford.

“Allesio,” I said, a command slipping into my tone. “Bring Emilia back.”

“Are you sure, boss?” Allesio’s brows arched up, but he didn’t wait for an answer. I had known him long enough that he didn’t need further explanation. He just turned on his heel and vanished down the hallway without another word.

Francesca continued sobbing, her face buried in my shoulder as I carried her down the hallway, her cries unrelenting and piercing, tearing at whatever remained of my patience. I had wanted to keep this simple. I told Emilia to leave to save us all this trouble and to ensure that no unnecessary entanglements crept into our lives. And yet here we were.

The drive home was a blur, Francesca’s cries relentless, her small frame wracked with sobs in the backseat. I tried coaxing her, tried distracting her with anything and everything I could think of, but nothing seemed to reach her. Every few seconds, she would hiccup, her voice catching on her mother’s name, though she had never even known the woman. Just a fantasy she clung to, one I could barely understand.

Once we were inside the house, I tried to settle her in the living room, setting her on her favorite couch, pulling out the stuffed bear she always kept close, her tiny fingers tracing its worn seams as her tears finally began to slow. She was silent now, but still hurting, her little breaths uneven.

“Francesca,” I said, crouching down in front of her. “She’s not coming. Do you understand?”

She stared at me, her eyes glassy, and nodded, but I knew she didn’t believe it. She was already building a story in her mind, one where Emilia would walk through the door, sweep her up, and promise her everything she wanted to hear.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong, Tesoro?" I asked, my voice softer than before. I felt like a stranger to myself in that moment, breaking down layers I had carefully built for years.

She rubbed her eyes, trying to find words, and then whispered, “I thought she was Mommy.”

“Francesca…” I sighed, feeling the weight of my own frustration. I didn’t know how to explain to her; I didn’t know how to convince her to let go of something that didn’t even exist.

I picked her up, carrying her to her bedroom. It was the one place where she felt safe; the walls painted a soft lavender that calmed her on most days, her bed filled with every stuffed animal she had ever loved. I set her down on the bed, pulling a blanket over her as she lay there, her breaths coming in shallow gasps as her tears slowly began to dry.

She looked at me, her eyes swollen and red-rimmed, and asked, “Why can’t she come back, Daddy?”

“Because…” I hesitated, unsure of what to say or how to put it in a way that her young mind would understand. “Because she isn’t your mother, Francesca. Sometimes, people come into our lives and then leave, and that’s how it’s meant to be.”

“But what if she wants to stay?” She whispered, her voice almost inaudible.

“She doesn’t, Tesoro. She’s not a part of our family.”

The words sounded cold, even to my own ears. I hated how clinical it sounded, how harsh. But it was the truth. And I knew that if I allowed her to believe otherwise, it would only hurt her more in the end.

I sat on the edge of her bed, running a hand over her silver hair, feeling the softness of it under my fingers. She closed her eyes, her small body finally relaxing as the exhaustion of her outburst began to take its toll.

“Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?” She asked, her voice barely a whisper.

“Of course,” I murmured, lying down beside her. I wrapped my arm around her, feeling the warmth of her small body next to mine as her breathing began to even out, the last of her tears drying on her cheeks.

As she drifted off, I stared at the ceiling, my mind racing. Everything about today had gone against my control. I hated when things went against my control. Emilia had come and gone, and yet she left a mark. One that my daughter had latched onto, one that I wasn’t sure I could erase.

I wanted to punch the wall. God. I wanted to hit something or to hit someone for how much control I lost today. For how I had lost Francesca in the hospital and how she had latched onto Emilia, calling her mommy. Saying she looked at her like mommy would. And that was unsettling because she had never met her mother.

Running my hands through my face, I got up from the bed and left the room as quietly as I could.