Dominic’s head snapped toward Sarah. His gaze hit her like a physical force.
“A nurse,” he repeated lowly.
“And what exactly do you think you can do that I haven’t already tried?”
Sarah swallowed.
“He’s hungry,” she said gently. “Or seeking comfort he recognizes.”
“I offered him the bottle.” Dominic’s voice cracked for the first time. “He refuses it.”
Sarah stepped closer.
“Some breastfed infants don’t transition easily to bottles. Was his mother—?”
“She’s gone.”
His voice didn’t waver — but his soul broke in that single sentence.
Compassion overrode Sarah’s fear.
“I’m… still lactating,” she whispered.
“My daughter passed six months ago. My body… never stopped.”
Dominic stared.
Then he realized what she was suggesting.
“You’re offering…”
His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.
“…to nurse my son?”
Sarah’s face heated.
“Yes. If you allow it.”
Every passenger fell quiet.
Dominic, ruler of the Romano empire, stared at this trembling woman offering the most intimate act imaginable.
No one had ever offered him help freely.
No one.
Finally, his shoulders dropped — just a fraction.
“The restroom,” he said hoarsely.
“It’s private.”
Marco’s First Peace
Sarah shut the restroom door behind her, hands shaking.
“This is insane,” she whispered.
Yet she unbuttoned her blouse with steady efficiency — autopilot for a mother whose instincts never died.
The infant rooted instantly, desperate.
When he latched, Sarah gasped softly — a sound of pain and relief and grief colliding.
Tears fell freely.
“It’s okay,” she whispered, stroking his tiny cheek.
“It’s okay, little one.”
Outside, Dominic stood like a statue, fists clenched, listening to the sudden miraculous silence.
His son’s first peaceful feeding. His first calm breath.
His first moment without pain.
Fifteen minutes later, when Sarah emerged, holding a sleeping Marco, Dominic nearly collapsed with relief.
“He’s okay?” he whispered.
“He’s perfect,” Sarah assured softly. “He ate well.”
She moved to hand him back, but Dominic’s hand closed around her wrist — gently, reverently.
“Your name.”
“Sarah.”
“Sarah…” He tasted the name like a vow.
“I owe you a debt.”
“No. You don’t owe me anything.”
“In my world,” Dominic murmured, “debts become destinies.”
Something in his tone sent a chill through her.
“I’d like to thank you properly,” he added, sliding a card into her hand.
“Dinner. When we land.”
Sarah should have refused.
But when their fingers brushed, something electric sparked.
“…Just dinner,” she whispered.
Dominic’s lips curved into a slow, devastating smile.
“For now.”
The Don’s Estate
Sarah never expected the black SUV waiting for her two days later.
Or the silent bodyguard escort.
Or the mansion that looked like a cathedral to power.
Dominic met her in the nursery.
Marco was crying again — weaker this time, frighteningly so.
“He won’t take anything,” Dominic said, voice cracking.
“The doctors talk about feeding tubes. I can’t let him suffer like that. Please, Sarah. Help him.”
She should run. She should scream.
But the infant’s cries shattered her.
“I’ll help him,” she whispered.
“For one week.”
Dominic nodded sharply.
“I’ll have a contract drafted. You will be safe here.”
But when she lifted Marco and he instantly calmed, rooting against her shirt, Dominic murmured:
“In the old families… the woman who feeds the Don’s child becomes sacred.”
“What does sacred mean?”
Dominic’s eyes locked onto hers.
“It means you belong to my protection. And my world will see you as mine.”
Sarah shivered.
“That’s… not how I see it.”
“But they will.”
A Week of Healing
For four days, the mansion became a strange sanctuary.
Sarah fed Marco every three hours.
He gained color. Strength. Life.
Dominic watched every feeding, silently, reverently.
One night, after Marco fell asleep, Dominic spoke:
“You’ve saved him.”
“I just fed him.”
“You gave him peace.”
Then, softer: “You gave me peace.”
Sarah’s breath hitched.
“Dominic…”
“Stay,” he whispered.
“Not forever. Just… stay a little longer.”
She should have said no.
Instead, she whispered, “I’m scared.”
“So am I.”
He cupped her cheek.
“But I’m more scared of life without you.”
Then he kissed her.
It was slow. Deep. Gentle.
A kiss from a man who ever rarely touched softness.
Sarah melted — for the first time in six months she felt alive.
And that terrified her more than anything.
The Attack
On the fourth morning, the explosion shattered everything.
Gunfire. Screams. Smoke.
Dominic rushed into the nursery, Marco pressed to his chest.
“They’re attacking the estate,” he growled.
“The Moretti family. They want you, Sarah.”
“Me? Why?!”
“Because you nursed my son,” Dominic said tightly.
“That makes you valuable. Leverage. A target.”
Before she could respond, another blast rocked the mansion.
Dominic grabbed her shoulders.
“I will come back for you,” he vowed.
“No matter what happens.”
Luca, the underboss, dragged Sarah and Marco to the safe room deep underground.
But even reinforced steel couldn’t withstand the assault.
The safe room door buckled.
Smoke seeped in.
“Run!” Teresa, the housekeeper, shoved Sarah toward a hidden tunnel.
“Take the baby!”
Sarah fled into the darkness.
Minutes later, men seized her in the woods.
Victoria’s Trap
She woke in an ornate bedroom — hostage.
Victoria Moretti, the rival Don, smiled coldly.
“You are priceless,” he crooned.
“The sacred wet nurse. The key to destroying Dominic.”
Sarah trembled.
“You won’t hurt Marco.”
“I need the child alive,” Victoria agreed.
“But you?”
He smiled.
“You are leverage.”
As dusk fell, Victoria dragged her to a window.
“Look,” he purred. “Your Don has arrived.”
Outside, Dominic stood alone in the courtyard — hands raised, unarmed, ready to trade everything for her.
“Let them go,” Dominic called.
“I’ll sign over my empire. All of it.”