Chapter 3 - The Light in the West Wing
Moving into the west wing felt like stepping into a different world for Elena.
The nursery was massive, carpeted in a rich cream wool that felt like walking on clouds. High arched windows let in streams of late afternoon golden sunlight. The furniture was solid oak—a beautiful, handcrafted crib, a deep plush rocking chair, and shelves filled with pristine, untouched leather-bound children's books.
It was immaculate, but as Elena unpacked her tiny canvas bag containing three worn cotton outfits for herself and four onesies for Matteo, she could feel the faint, haunting echo of old grief in the air.
She placed Matteo in the center of the large rug. The baby instantly began rolling around, squealing with delight as he discovered a carved wooden train engine sitting beside the crib.
A soft knock sounded at the open door.
Elena turned quickly. Daario stood in the doorway. He had shed his dark suit jacket, wearing only his white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, exposing thick, muscular wrists.
"Is the room satisfactory?" he asked, his hands resting casually in his trouser pockets.
"It is... far too much, Don Kanti," Elena said honestly, holding a folded shirt against her chest. "We don't need all this space. I can still do my duties—I will start the dinner preparations now—"
"Marisol has returned," Daario interrupted. "Her fever broke. She is handling the kitchen."
"Oh," Elena blinked. "Then... what would you like me to do, sir?"
Daario walked into the room. His heavy steps were unhurried. He stopped near the play area and looked down at Matteo, who was currently trying to fit the entire wooden train engine into his mouth.
"Do not let him chew the paint," Daario said calmly. "It's old."
Elena rushed forward, gently pulling the wooden train away and substituting it with a silicone teething ring from her pocket. Matteo let out a small grumble, but settled for the teether, his chubby legs kicking against the carpet.
Daario watched the interaction quietly. "His name is Matteo?"
"Yes, sir. Matteo Daniel Ramos."
"How old?"
"Eight months next week, sir."
Daario slowly walked over to the bay window, looking out over the manicured west gardens. "Fifteen years ago, this room was prepared for a boy. He would have been named Gabriel."
Elena felt a lump form in her throat. She had heard whispers among the staff over the past year—dark, vague rumors about why Don Kanti lived alone, why he never smiled, why no women were ever seen on the grounds.
"I am so sorry for your loss, Don Kanti," she said softly, her voice filled with genuine, quiet empathy.
Daario turned his head slightly. "It was a long time ago. The men who did it are dead. I made sure of that."
The cold, matter-of-fact way he said it reminded her instantly of who he was. He was not just an employer. He was an apex predator who ruled the city's underbelly. Yet, standing here in the warm sunlight of a forgotten nursery, he didn't look terrifying. He looked tired.
"Why did you protect us today?" Elena asked, the question slipping out before she could stop herself.
Daario turned around fully, fixing his dark eyes on her face. "When Bruno Valenti looked at you and your son, he saw weakness. He saw something small to tread upon to prove his power."
He took two steps toward her, stopping just close enough that she could smell the clean, crisp cedar scent of his soap.
"I spent my entire life surrounded by men who believe power is shown by destroying small things," Daario continued softly. "They are wrong. Real power is the ability to keep small things safe."
Elena looked up into his eyes, her breath catching in her throat. For the first time, she didn't see the ruthless mafia lord the city feared. She saw a man of profound honor, wrapped in heavy armor, reaching out from behind his walls.
Suddenly, Matteo let out a loud, delighted burst of giggles.
Both adults looked down. The baby had managed to crawl over to Daario’s feet again. He had pulled himself up using Daario's dark socks and was now gleefully slapping his open palm against the leather of Daario's shoe like it was a drum.
Daario’s lips twitched.
Elena watched in absolute awe as the hard, unyielding lines of Daario Kanti’s face softened. The corners of his eyes crinkled, and a small, slow, genuine smile broke across his face—a transformation so striking it made him look ten years younger.
He knelt down on one knee, reaching down to pick up the baby.
"You have very little respect for custom footwear, Matteo," Daario murmured, lifting the boy onto his knee. Matteo immediately grabbed Daario’s nose with his small hand.
Daario didn't flinch. He let the baby explore his face, his dark eyes shining with a quiet, fierce warmth that made Elena’s heart skip a strange, unexpected beat.
"He likes you, Don Kanti," Elena said softly, a warm flush rising on her cheeks.
"He doesn't know any better," Daario replied, though he gently patted the baby's back. "Call me Daario. When you are in this wing, there are no titles."
Before Elena could process the invitation, a loud, urgent knock echoed from the hallway outside the nursery.
Leo Vance stepped into the doorway, his face pale, his hand resting tightly on the grip of his holstered sidearm.
"Boss," Leo said, his voice flat and tight with emergency tension. "We have a problem."
Daario instantly stood up, his posture shifting from gentle protector back to lethal syndicate leader in less than a second. He handed Matteo smoothly back to Elena.
"Report," Daario barked.
"Bruno Valenti just launched a raid on our east warehouse," Leo said quickly. "And boss... Tomas Ramos was spotted in Bruno's lead vehicle."
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Elena gasped, her hands tightening around Matteo. "Tomas? My... my husband?"
Leo glanced at Elena with grim pity. "He didn't just leave town eight months ago, Mrs. Ramos. He sold information about your employment here to the Valenti family. Bruno knows the baby is in the house. They are heading for the estate."
