Chapter 2 - The Shadows of the Past
The penthouse on the fifty-second floor was quiet, but it was no longer empty.
For three days, Dominic did not step foot into his office at the docks or attend a single meeting. The underworld of New York was buzzing with rumors—Dominic Moretti, the feared Don of the Moretti family, had brought an orphan child into his heavily guarded fortress.
In the sprawling living room, Mia sat on a velvet sofa that was far too large for her. She wore a soft lavender sweater and new shoes that Dominic had ordered by the dozen. The tattered photograph was still near her, set safely in a silver frame that Dominic had placed on the coffee table beside her cup of warm milk.
Dominic walked in, carrying a large leather-bound book filled with sketches and maps. He sat beside her, keeping a respectful distance so as not to startle her.
"How are you feeling today, Mia?" he asked softly.
Mia looked at him, then down at her milk. "The beds here are too soft," she whispered, her voice still thin from years of disuse. "I feel like I'm sinking."
Dominic’s heart squeezed. "Then we will buy a firmer bed today. Anything you want, Mia. The whole world is yours."
She looked up at him, her violet eyes wide. "Where is Mommy? Sister Teresa said she went to heaven. But Mommy told me she was just going to buy bread when she didn't come back."
Dominic closed his eyes against a wave of agonizing guilt. He reached out, gently tucking a stray curl behind her ear. "Your mother... she loved you very much, Mia. She was trying to protect you."
"From who?" Mia asked innocently.
Before Dominic could answer, the double oak doors of the penthouse burst open.
Marco Bellini walked in, his long coat damp with rain, a severe, agitated expression on his face. Two armed guards stood outside the doorway, looking uncomfortable.
"Dominic," Marco said sharply, stepping onto the marble foyer. "We have a crisis at the Brooklyn yards. The Rosses have seized two of our container ships. And you're sitting here playing house with a street child?"
Dominic rose from the sofa with a slow, terrifying grace. He walked toward Marco, his frame towering over his long-time lieutenant. The temperature in the room dropped instantly.
"Lower your voice in my home, Marco," Dominic said, his tone dangerously low. "And do not refer to my daughter as a street child again if you wish to keep breathing."
Marco stopped in his tracks, his eyes darting past Dominic to the small girl watching them from the couch. A subtle, dark twitch occurred near Marco's left eye—a flicker of pure, unadulterated shock that he quickly masked behind a tight smile.
"Your... daughter?" Marco whispered. "Dominic, you can't be serious. A random orphan from Queens—"
"She is Elena’s child," Dominic interrupted coldly. "My child. The DNA results arrived this morning. Ninety-nine point nine percent."
Marco’s hands clenched into fists inside his pockets. For a fraction of a second, a look of sheer, cold panic swept across his face before he forced a warm chuckle.
"Elena's child..." Marco said, shaking his head as if amazed. "My God, Dominic. After all these years. That's... miraculous."
"Is it?" Dominic asked, his sharp eyes locking onto Marco's face, studying every micro-expression. "Elena vanished six years ago without a trace. Five years ago, a woman named Anna Rossi dropped Mia off at St. Cecilia’s while fleeing for her life. Do you know who Anna Rossi was, Marco?"
Marco swallowed hard, his posture stiffening. "How could I know that?"
"She was Elena’s cousin," Dominic said, taking a step closer to Marco, his presence suffocatingly heavy. "My men found Anna’s body in a shallow grave upstate yesterday morning. She had two bullets in the back of her head—the execution style of the Ross family."
Mia let out a small, terrified gasp from the sofa.
Dominic immediately broke eye contact with Marco and turned back to his daughter, his expression softening instantly. "It's alright, Mia. Go to your room with Mrs. Gable. Daddy needs to speak with Uncle Marco."
The housekeeper quickly ushered Mia into the master bedroom suite. Once the door clicked shut, Dominic turned back to Marco, the warmth completely vanishing from his face.
"Six years ago, someone told Elena that I was going to be assassinated, and that if she stayed with me, she and her unborn baby would be killed," Dominic said quietly, his voice vibrating with absolute lethality. "She fled to protect our child. Someone was feeding her information from inside my inner circle."
Marco’s jaw tightened. "Dominic, you aren't suggesting—"
"I am suggesting," Dominic interrupted, his dark eyes burning like lit gasoline, "that whoever drove Elena away six years ago is the same person who has been leaking our shipping numbers to the Rosses for the past six months."
Marco forced a laugh, stepping forward and clapping a hand onto Dominic's shoulder—the same familiar gesture he had used for twenty years. "Dominic, brother, you're letting grief cloud your mind. I built this empire with you. I bled with you in Little Italy. I would die for you."
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Dominic looked down at Marco's hand on his shoulder. He remembered the faint tremor in Marco's index finger three days ago when discussing the shipping losses.
"I know you would, Marco," Dominic said softly. "That's why you're going to help me hunt down whoever did this. We start with the Rosses tonight."
