Chapter 1 - The Password of Palermo
The atmosphere in the VIP section of The Gilded Spoon froze instantly.
In the center of the leather booth, sitting between Landon Moretti and his silent bodyguard Dominic, was a four-year-old boy. His name was Leo—Landon’s orphaned nephew, the only child of Landon’s late brother, Marco. Leo was wearing an oversized navy sweater, clutching a small, worn wooden toy boat.
Suddenly, the child dropped the boat. It clattered against the hardwood floor and rolled directly under Paige’s serving tray.
Leo began to hyperventilate. His eyes welled with large tears, and a terrified, choked cry escaped his tiny chest. He reached down into the dark gap beneath the table, sobbing in utter panic.
Dominic reached toward the boy, but his massive frame made him look intimidating, causing the child to scream even louder. Landon’s dark eyebrows pulled together. The powerful mafia boss, who managed multi-million-dollar territories without blinking, looked entirely helpless against the grief of a terrified four-year-old.
Paige didn't think. Instinct completely took over.
Forget Sarah. Forget Cleveland. Forget the three years of hiding in Queens.
She dropped down to her knees beside the booth, lowering her body so she was on eye level with the sobbing boy. She retrieved the wooden boat from under the table, holding it gently in her open, trembling palms.
Then, she opened her mouth.
“Vola, vola, lu vièntu di la mari… stà 'nzigghiàtu chianu, nicu miu, n'un avìri pagùra.”
It was a delicate, ancient Sicilian lullaby—a melody spoken only in a private, high-walled villa in the hills outside Palermo thirty years ago. It wasn't standard Italian; it was a rare, regional dialect, whispered in a soft, rhythmic cadence meant to soothe frightened children during winter storms.
Leo’s sobs stopped instantly. He looked up at Paige through tear-filled eyelashes, taking the wooden boat from her hands.
Behind her, the entire restaurant seemed to lose its breath.
Landon Moretti froze.
The glass of dark whiskey in his right hand paused halfway to his lips. His dark eyes, usually cold and unreadable, widened in absolute, shock-filled disbelief.
That song was not a public lullaby. It was a private family secret—a verse taught exclusively to his late brother’s bride, a woman who had vanished three years ago during the fall of the Falcone family in Sicily.
Landon stood up slowly, his tall, imposing frame blocking out the amber chandelier light.
Paige realized what she had done. Terror flooded her veins like ice. She scrambled back onto her feet, clutching her tray to her chest, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
"I... I'm sorry, sir," Paige stammered, pulling her apron tight, defaulting back to her flat Cleveland accent. "I was just trying to help the little boy."
She turned on her heel and rushed toward the kitchen doors.
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Landon didn't run. He didn't scream. He simply looked at Dominic, his voice dropping into a razor-sharp, terrifying command that cut through the restaurant's ambient music:
"Find her. Now."
