Chapter 4 - Blood in the Snow
Three days passed without sunlight.
At least, that was how it felt.
We stayed inside the Brooklyn safe house while New York whispered about explosions at the Moretti estate. News channels called it a “private security incident.” Social media buzzed with rumors. Nobody knew the truth.
But the underworld knew.
The peace meeting had been a trap.
And every family was looking for someone to blame.
Damiano spent most of his time in a locked office downstairs. Men came and went at all hours. Some wore expensive suits. Others looked like they had walked out of a war zone. Every time the front door opened, I expected Valentina to be standing there.
Emma, somehow, adjusted faster than I did.
She colored pictures at the kitchen table. She played cards with Rosa. She asked Damiano endless questions whenever he appeared.
“Do you have a dog?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I travel too much.”
“Do you know how to make pancakes?”
“No.”
“Then you’re not very useful in a kitchen.”
Damiano almost laughed.
Almost.
One snowy afternoon, I found him sitting on the floor beside Emma’s coloring book. She had drawn a picture of a tall man in a black suit standing next to a little girl with a doll.
Above them, in purple crayon, she had written: MR. D IS SCARY BUT NICE.
Damiano studied it seriously.
“Is that what you think?” he asked her.
Emma nodded. “You’re scary when you don’t smile.”
“That’s fair.”
Then she pointed at the drawing. “That’s Mommy.”
I looked at it.
I was standing between them.
“Why am I there?” I asked gently.
“Because you’re the boss,” Emma said.
Damiano looked at me, and for the first time, I laughed.
It was a small sound.
But it felt strange and wonderful after days of fear.
That night, everything changed again.
I woke up to the sound of glass breaking.
At first, I thought it was part of a dream.
Then I heard Rosa scream downstairs.
Damiano’s voice cut through the house.
“Get Emma. Now.”
I jumped out of bed.
A bullet tore through the bedroom wall.
I grabbed Emma from beneath her blanket. She woke up crying as I pulled her toward the closet.
“Mommy, what’s happening?”
“Hide with me.”
The closet had a hidden panel behind the clothes. Damiano had shown me earlier, “just in case.” I shoved it open and crawled inside with Emma.
The space was narrow and dark. I held my hand over her mouth as footsteps pounded through the hallway outside.
Someone kicked open the bedroom door.
A man’s voice spoke in Italian.
Another answered in English.
“Find the woman and the kid.”
Emma trembled against me.
I felt her tears on my hand.
Then a gunshot cracked so close that my ears rang.
The voices stopped.
A heavy body hit the floor.
Seconds later, the closet panel opened.
Damiano was there, gun in hand, blood splashed across his cheek.
“It’s me,” he said.
Emma threw herself into his arms.
He held her tightly, then looked at me.
“Are you hurt?”
I shook my head.
But I couldn’t stop shaking.
The attack lasted less than four minutes.
Four minutes was enough to destroy any illusion that the safe house was safe.
Downstairs, three attackers lay dead. One had survived long enough to reveal Valentina’s message.
She wanted Damiano to choose.
His empire or us.
If he refused to step aside, Sophia and Emma would die.
Damiano stood over the captured attacker in the basement, his face like stone.
“You tell Valentina this,” he said. “She doesn’t get to make demands anymore.”
The man laughed weakly.
“You still think this is about you?”
Damiano’s eyes narrowed.
“What does that mean?”
The attacker looked directly at me.
Then he smiled.
“Ask Sophia about her father.”
The room went silent.
I stared at him.
“My father is dead,” I said.
“Is he?” the man replied.
Damiano turned toward me slowly.
I felt the floor disappear beneath my feet.
Because there was something about my father I had never told anyone.
Not even Emma.
Before he died, he had made me promise never to speak about the work he did for the Moretti family.
May you like
And now, somehow, Valentina knew.
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