Chapter 3 - The Secret in the Garden
The morning sun broke through the gray winter clouds, casting blinding shards of light across the snow-covered grounds of the Brookline estate.
Isabella was in the kitchen preparing breakfast when the back door opened, letting in a gust of crisp morning air. Marcus, Dominic’s primary enforcer—a hulking man with a broken nose and a permanent scowl—stepped inside, shaking snow off his heavy wool coat. He carried a sealed manila envelope in his calloused hand.
“Mr. Moretti downstairs yet?” Marcus asked gruffly, eyeing Isabella with suspicion.
“Not yet,” Isabella replied, flipping a pancake on the griddle. “He was up late.”
Marcus grunted, tossing the envelope onto the marble island. “Tell him the shipment from Providence arrived early. And tell him Salvatore is asking questions about the warehouse audit on North Street. If Salvatore smells blood in the water, he’s going to move on the docks.”
“You can tell him yourself when he comes down,” Isabella said coldly, sliding the pancake onto a plate.
Marcus narrowed his eyes, stepping closer to her. “Listen here, lady—you might have that little girl wrapping you around her finger, but don't forget whose house this is. You’re domestic staff. Stay in your lane.”
Before Isabella could retort, a shadow fell across the kitchen doorway.
Dominic stood there, dressed in a sharp navy suit, his tie impeccably knotted. He had overheard Marcus’s final remark.
The temperature in the kitchen dropped twenty degrees.
“Marcus,” Dominic said, his voice dangerously low.
Marcus spun around, instantly straightening up. “Boss. Just dropping off the reports from Providence. Salvatore’s getting restless—”
“You don't speak to Isabella that way in this house,” Dominic interrupted, his dark eyes locking onto his enforcer with a predatory intensity. “Understood?”
Marcus blinked in surprise, glancing sideways at Isabella before nodding stiffly. “My apologies, Mr. Moretti. Didn't mean any disrespect.”
“Get out,” Dominic ordered flatly.
Marcus didn't need to be told twice. He grabbed his coat, muttered a curse under his breath, and practically bolted through the back exit.
Silence settled back over the kitchen, save for the hum of the refrigerator.
Dominic walked over to the island, picking up the manila envelope Marcus had left behind, but his eyes stayed on Isabella. “You don't have to tolerate Marcus’s attitude. I’ll make sure it doesn't happen again.”
“I can handle Marcus, Mr. Moretti,” Isabella said, plating another pancake for Leo, who had just wandered quietly into the kitchen, holding Lily’s hand.
The two children sat down at the small breakfast nook by the window, immediately whispering and giggling about something secret. Watching them, Dominic’s expression softened for a fraction of a second before he locked it away.
“Isabella,” Dominic said, lowering his voice as he walked closer to the stove. “There’s something you need to know about why I live the way I do. Why I keep Leo locked away behind these gates.”
Isabella turned off the stove, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She looked at him, waiting.
“Six years ago, before Leo was born, my wife Elena discovered ledger books linking our shipping import business to federal trafficking investigations,” Dominic said, his voice tightening with every word, as if each syllable were a jagged piece of glass he was forcing up his throat. “She wanted out. She wanted to take our unborn child and disappear into witness protection. But before she could make it to the FBI field office in Boston, she was intercepted.”
Isabella’s breath caught. “Intercepted by whom?”
“By my own uncle, Vincenzo Moretti,” Dominic whispered, his fists clenching so hard his knuckles turned white. “Vincenzo wanted total control of the syndicate. He believed Elena was a liability. He had her car run off the Callahan Tunnel ramp into Boston Harbor.”
The horror of the revelation hung in the air like poison.
“And Leo?” Isabella whispered.
“Elena went into premature labor from the crash,” Dominic said, his voice breaking slightly. “The state police pulled her body from the wreckage, but they found newborn Leo alive in the back seat, wrapped in her coat. Vincenzo didn't know she had already given birth in the car before it plunged into the water. He thought the bloodline was entirely wiped out.”
Dominic looked over at his son, who was now laughing as Lily stole a piece of fruit off his plate.
“I hunted Vincenzo down three months later,” Dominic continued, his eyes darkening with lethal coldness. “I took back the syndicate in blood and fire. But the fear never left, Isabella. Every time Leo steps outside these gates, every time I let my guard down, I see my wife’s car sinking into that dark water. I’m not trying to punish my son. I’m trying to keep him alive.”
Isabella stared at him. The rigid, terrifying mob boss had vanished, leaving behind a broken, grieving father trapped in a prison of his own making.
“Mr. Moretti,” Isabella said softly, stepping closer to him. “Keeping him in a cage isn't protecting him. It’s teaching him how to survive a prison he didn't commit a crime to enter. If Elena loved him enough to wrap him in her coat before she died, she wouldn't want him raised by a ghost.”
Before Dominic could respond, the heavy iron security gates at the end of the estate’s long driveway were suddenly blown off their hinges with a deafening explosion.
Alarms wailed across the property. Red emergency strobe lights began flashing through the windows.
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Marcus burst back through the kitchen door, his weapon drawn, bleeding from a gash on his forehead.
“Boss! We’re breached!” Marcus yelled over the wailing sirens. “Vincenzo’s loyalists! They’ve breached the perimeter with a truck bomb! They’re coming up the drive!”
