Chapter 7 - Eyes of the Father
Dominic’s heart threatened to crack his ribs. They were real. He was looking at his son, who possessed the exact defiant tilt of his own jaw, and his daughter, whose eyes were wide mirrors of his own. Five years of agonizing emptiness culminated in this single, suspended second on a freezing street.
Elena instinctively stepped back, shoving the children completely behind her, shielding them with her body. Her chin lifted in a gesture of pure, maternal defiance.
“Don’t come any closer,” she warned, her voice trembling but fierce.
Dominic stopped instantly. He raised his hands, showing his empty palms. He took a slow, deliberate breath, fighting the violent urge to rip away everything between them and crush them into his arms.
“Elena,” he said. His voice was a rasp, broken and raw. “I’m not here to take them. I swear on my life, I’m not here to hurt you.”
“You hurt me five years ago!” she screamed over the rising wind, tears finally breaking free, mixing with the rain. “You destroyed us!”
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“I know,” he said, taking one step forward, ignoring her flinch. He slowly sank to his knees on the wet, muddy cobblestones. The Don of the Moretti family, a man who made politicians and killers bow, knelt in the dirt before a bakery worker and two terrified children. “I know what I did. I have spent every second of the last five years hating myself for it. I don’t deserve your forgiveness. I don’t deserve to know them. But please… please don’t run anymore. Let me protect you.”
Mia peeked out from behind Elena’s coat, pointing a small, chubby finger at the weeping giant in the mud. “Mommy, why is the big man crying?”
