Client family member.
Unauthorized guest.
I round the corner expecting irritation and paperwork.
Instead, I find Livia De Luca kneeling beside a little boy near the empty conference room at the end of the hall.
For one strange second my brain simply refuses to process what I’m seeing.
The boy cannot be older than four. Dark curls. Small sneakers lighting up against the polished floor every time he shifts his feet. He sits cross-legged beside an overturned leather portfolio while toy cars form an organized line beside him.
Livia is trying to answer a phone call while simultaneously keeping him occupied.
Stress radiates off her in waves.
“Nico, sweetheart, not there,” she says distractedly, reaching for him without looking away from her laptop screen. “That’s not a toy.”
The boy has somehow acquired one of our temporary visitor badges. He studies the magnetic strip with intense concentration.
I should probably say something immediately. Instead, I stand there watching them.
Livia’s hair is twisted into a loose knot that is already falling apart. There is a faint crease between her eyebrows that suggests she has been solving problems since dawn.
She wears a cream blouse tucked into dark trousers, professional enough for the office, but one sleeve has a tiny smear of what looks suspiciously like strawberry jam near the cuff.
The boy notices me first.
His head lifts.
Those eyes hit mine and something inside me goes unnaturally still. It's a soft shade of gray and he's watching me closely. That familiarity from the say I saw that photograph hits me again.
Familiar in a way that lands low in my spine.
It makes no sense.
Livia follows his gaze and freezes.
“Oh my God," she gasps, voice laced with mortification.
She rises too quickly and nearly drops her phone in the process. “Mr. Ferretti. I can explain.”
I slide the tablet beneath my arm and study the scene carefully.
“You brought a child into a restricted security office.”
Her jaw tightens slightly. Defensive already.
“My sitter canceled an hour ago. My best friend is at work. Preschool called because Nico had a fever yesterday and they wouldn’t let him come back without twenty-four hours symptom free. I tried to work remotely but Legal needed the revised profiles in person before the board review and I had no other option.”
The explanation comes fast, prepared, as if she has already had to defend herself twelve times this morning.
The boy stands up beside her and looks directly at me.
“You’re tall.”
I look down at him. “Yes.”
He considers that carefully. Then he nods once like we have reached an agreement.
