Chapter 1 - The Silence After the Storm
The silence in Il Stellino was heavy enough to suffocate a man.
Rico Moretti stared down at Clara Vance. His hand hovered an inch above the cold steel of the dark handgun resting beside his wineglass. His dark eyes—the infamous shattered ice that made district attorneys quail in court—were locked onto the twenty-four-year-old waitress kneeling in shattered ceramic and spilled cream.
"What did you say?" Rico’s voice came out as a low, dangerous rasp.
Clara didn't flinch. Her feet hurt, her hands were cold, but her arms held three-year-old Leo with a fierce, instinctual tightness. She looked directly into the eyes of Brooklyn’s most feared criminal kingpin.
"He isn't throwing a tantrum, Mr. Moretti," Clara repeated, keeping her voice soft, steady, and soothing for the trembling boy in her arms. "Look at him. He’s overwhelmed. The lights are too bright, the room is too loud, and he’s missing the one person who used to make him feel safe. He doesn't need discipline right now. He needs a mother's touch."
A collective gasp echoed subtly through the dining room. To speak of Rico’s late wife, Elena—who had been killed in a car explosion ten months ago—was a taboo that usually carried a death sentence in the Moretti organization.
Rico’s jaw tightened until the muscle twitched. He stepped away from the table, his broad shoulders blocking the amber sconce light. For three agonizing seconds, the room waited for him to give a signal to his men standing by the door.
Instead, Rico knelt down on the marble floor right in front of Clara.
The expensive wool of his bespoke trousers settled into the mess of butter and rice, but he didn't care. He looked at his son, who was now clinging to Clara’s frayed uniform collar, his tiny chest letting out small, shuddering hiccups.
"He hasn't slept more than two hours a night since his mother died," Rico whispered, a raw, human crack appearing in his hardened voice for the very first time. "He screams until he chokes. Nobody... no nanny, no doctor, no relative... has been able to quiet him."
"Because they were trying to manage him like a problem," Clara said gently, adjusting Leo so his head rested comfortably over her heart. "Children don't want to be managed. They just want to be held."
Leo stirred, his small thumb slipping into his mouth as he let out a long, exhausted sigh against Clara’s neck. His little body went completely limp in her arms as he finally succumbed to deep, peaceful sleep.
Rico stared at his son in absolute shock. For ten months, he had watched his world fall apart, helpless against the grief destroying his child. Now, a waitress with frayed cuffs and late rent had accomplished in three minutes what all his money couldn't buy.
May you like
Rico stood up slowly and extended a large, warm hand down to Clara.
"Get up," Rico ordered quietly. "You're coming with me."
