Chapter 2 - The Shadows of Rome
The ancient streets of Rome were shrouded in a light morning rain when the private jet touched down at Fiumicino Airport.
True to his word, Dante ensured Clare and Maya bypassed the public customs lines entirely, guiding them through a private diplomatic terminal into a waiting fleet of black armored sedans.
Before Clare could object, Marco had loaded her worn canvas bags into the trunk of a Mercedes and driven them directly to the cobbled alleyways of Trastevere, dropping them outside her cousin Elena’s third-floor apartment.
For the first two weeks, life felt almost normal.
Elena, a cheerful tour guide, welcomed Clare and Maya with open arms, hot pasta, and cheap wine. Clare found a part-time position assisting an elderly pediatrician in a quiet neighborhood clinic, earning enough Euros to buy groceries and milk for Maya.
Yet, every night, as Clare laid beside her sleeping daughter listening to the rain against the wooden shutters, her mind kept drifting back to the plane. She thought of little Leo’s soft weight against her chest, and the intense, dark-eyed man who had watched her hold his child as if she were a miracle.
She had researched the name Dante Salvatore on the internet late one night.
What she found made her blood run cold.
Dante was the undisputed head of the Salvatore syndicate—a vast, multi-billion-dollar empire spanning shipping, real estate, and underground logistics across North America and Southern Europe. News articles described him as a brilliant, cold-blooded kingpin who had ruthlessly consolidated power after his wife’s death six months ago.
He was a monster to the world. But to her, he had been a desperate father who had given her blanket protection without asking for a single thing in return.
On a chilly Thursday evening, three weeks after their arrival, Clare was walking back from the clinic with Maya holding her hand. The narrow cobblestone street was quiet, illuminated only by dim yellow streetlamps.
Suddenly, a heavy black SUV with dark-tinted windows pulled up along the curb, blocking the narrow alley.
Clare’s heart slammed into her throat. She instinctively yanked Maya behind her skirt, her hand flying into her bag to clutch her small bottle of pepper spray.
The rear door clicked open.
A man stepped out. He was tall, wearing a long beige trench coat over a expensive gray suit.
It wasn't Dante.
"Clare," a sharp, familiar voice sneered in accented English.
Clare went deathly pale. The blood drained from her face, leaving her lightheaded. "Richard..."
Richard Peterson stood on the Roman street, a cruel, triumphant smile stretching across his face. He was forty, handsome in a conventional, corporate way, with slicked-back brown hair and silver cuff links. Behind him, two broad-shouldered men in dark coats stepped out of the vehicle.
"Did you really think you could run away from me to Italy?" Richard asked, taking a slow step toward her. "You took my daughter, Clare. You stole my child in the middle of the night."
"You hurt her!" Clare screamed, her voice shaking violently as she pushed Maya behind her feet. "You pushed her into a table! You bled her!"
"It was an accident, and you know it!" Richard snapped, his tone shifting into the familiar, terrifying anger that had haunted her for seven years. "I hired three private investigators the moment you fled Ohio. I tracked your passport. I owned you in America, Clare, and I will own you here."
Richard gestured to his two hired thugs. "Grab the child. Put her in the car."
"No! Stay away from her!" Clare shrieked, spraying the pepper spray directly at the first man. The man hissed, stepping back and wiping his eyes, but the second thug grabbed Clare’s wrist roughly, twisting her arm until she dropped the bottle.
Maya began to scream, her little hands clutching Clare’s jeans. "Mommy! Mommy!"
"Shut the kid up!" Richard ordered, stepping forward to grab Maya by her arm.
BANG!
A single gunshot shattered the evening air, striking the wet cobblestones two inches from Richard’s leather shoe.
Richard jumped back with a violent yelp.
From the shadows at the end of the alley, three black vehicles appeared, blocking both ends of the street. Headlights flared, blinding Richard and his men.
May you like
A heavy car door slammed shut.
Out from the lead vehicle walked Marco Bellini, a heavy, suppressed pistol held casually in his right hand. And beside him, stepping with cool, lethal grace, was Dante Salvatore.
