Chapter 4 - THE SHADOW IN THE PERIPHERY
The air in the nursery grew dangerously thin. Matteo stared at the crude drawing in his hands, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edges of the paper. The jagged red line through the eyebrow seemed to glow against the white page.
“Are you certain this is him?” Matteo’s voice had dropped an octave. It was no longer the voice of a desperate uncle, but the tone of a man who commanded a deeply violent empire.
“I stared at that scar for three years, Matteo. I know it better than my own face. David got it in a bar fight in South Boston before I met him.” I looked at the little boy sitting quietly on the rug, returning to his wooden blocks. “Why would Leo draw David? He lives in Boston. You said Leo’s parents were killed in a car accident...”
“It wasn't an accident,” Matteo cut in sharply. He folded the paper and slipped it into his tailored suit pocket. “It was a hit. A professional contract executed in downtown Manhattan.”
My stomach dropped. “And you think David had something to do with it? David is a real estate developer. A bully, yes. Controlling, abusive—but a hitman?”
“Lawson is not a developer, Sophia. He launders money for the O’Bannon syndicate in Boston. I’ve known of him for years, but our families have never crossed paths. Until now.” Matteo ran a hand through his dark hair, pacing the length of the nursery. “If Lawson was the one who pulled the trigger on my brother... and you were living with him at the time...”
“I didn't know!” I stood up quickly, panic rising in my chest. “I swear to you, I didn't know anything about his business. I thought he was just a cruel man. I left him because he tried to choke me when I mentioned moving out. That’s it!”
Matteo stopped pacing and looked at me. The harsh suspicion in his eyes softened as he took in my trembling frame. He closed the distance between us, his large hands gently gripping my shoulders. His touch was firm but surprisingly warm.
“I believe you,” he said quietly. “My father owed your grandmother his life. I do not forget my blood debts, and I will not let you be harmed. But you are no longer just a woman seeking refuge, Sophia. You are a witness to a man who might have murdered my family.”
He released me and looked down at Leo. “You will stay here. You will care for Leo. Speak only the old language to him. Bring him back to me.”
For the next three days, the sprawling Long Island estate became my entire world. It was a beautiful, gilded cage. I spent hours sitting on the floor of the nursery, talking to Leo in soft, rhythmic Italian. I told him stories of my grandmother’s bakery, of the lemon trees in Palermo, and the smell of fresh bread at dawn.
Leo never spoke back. But he began to listen. He stopped lining up blocks when I talked and started watching my mouth, his large brown eyes tracking my every expression.
On the fourth evening, the heavy snowfall finally stopped. I left Leo sleeping in his bed, watched over by one of Matteo’s armed guards, and wandered downstairs to the massive estate kitchen to make a cup of tea.
The house was eerily silent. I was pouring boiling water into a mug when the heavy oak doors of the kitchen swung open.
It was Marco. The manager from Bellissimo.
I nearly dropped my mug. “Marco? What are you doing here?”
He looked exhausted, his tie loosened, a thick winter coat dusted with snow draped over his arm. He offered a strained smile. “Sophia. It’s good to see you’re safe. I work directly for Mr. Ricci, not just the restaurant. I handle... logistics for the estate.”
I nodded slowly, taking a sip of my tea. Something about his presence made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. The nervous energy he had carried at the restaurant was gone, replaced by a cold, calculating stillness.
“How is the boy?” Marco asked casually, walking toward the refrigerator and pulling out a bottle of water.
“He’s quiet,” I answered vaguely.
“It’s a tragedy. Mr. Ricci is deeply invested in finding the people responsible.” Marco took a long drink, his eyes studying me over the rim of the plastic bottle. “Has the boy communicated anything to you? Drawn any pictures, perhaps?”
My heart skipped a beat. How did he know about the drawings? Matteo had taken the picture of David and put it in his pocket. He hadn’t mentioned it to anyone in my presence.
“No,” I lied smoothly, keeping my face blank. “Just abstract shapes. He’s very traumatized.”
Marco’s smile didn't reach his eyes. “Well, let me know if he does. I like to keep Mr. Ricci fully informed.”
He turned and walked out of the kitchen.
I stood frozen, gripping my warm mug until my knuckles ached. The realization hit me like a physical blow. Marco was the leak. Marco had to be the one feeding information.
I abandoned my tea and sprinted up the back staircase, desperate to find Matteo. His office was at the end of the east wing. I rounded the corner, breathless, only to stop dead in my tracks.
The door to Matteo’s office was cracked open. I could hear his voice, low and furious.
“You’re telling me he’s in New York?”
I crept closer, pressing my back against the wall next to the doorframe.
A voice I didn't recognize answered. “Yes, boss. David Lawson touched down at JFK an hour ago. He bypassed his usual hotels. He’s moving off the grid.”
“He knows she’s here,” Matteo growled.
“It’s worse than that, Matteo,” the other man said. “Lawson isn’t just looking for the girl. We intercepted a wire from the Boston syndicate. Lawson is hunting her because she took something when she packed her bags six months ago. Something worth five million dollars.”
I clamped a hand over my mouth to stifle a gasp. Five million dollars? I had run away with old clothes and twenty bucks in loose change. I had nothing of value.
Suddenly, my cell phone, tucked deep in my sweater pocket, began to vibrate violently against my hip. I scrambled to silence it, pulling it out with shaking hands.
The caller ID glowed brightly in the dim hallway.
UNKNOWN NUMBER.
I stared at it, paralyzed, as it buzzed again and again. Before I could silence it, the door to the office swung open.
Matteo stood there, his dark eyes locking onto mine, realizing I had heard everything. But his gaze quickly dropped to the vibrating phone in my hand.
“Answer it,” he commanded softly. “Put it on speaker.”
With a trembling thumb, I pressed accept and held the phone up.
“Hello, Sophia,” David’s voice purred through the speaker, dripping with the terrifying, suffocating familiarity I had spent six months running from. “Did you really think hiding behind Matteo Ricci would save you? Look out the window, sweetheart.”
Matteo lunged past me toward the large hallway window looking out over the front gates of the estate.
May you like
I followed him, my blood turning to ice.
Parked in the snow, just beyond the heavy iron security gates, was a line of four black SUVs. And standing in the headlights of the lead car, staring directly up at our window, was David.
