Chapter 2 - Shadows in the House of Stone
The west wing of the Moretti estate was a stark departure from the cramped, drafty servant quarters I had occupied for the past four months.
The suite Dominic assigned to Lily and me was magnificent: high ceilings trimmed with gilded plasterwork, floor-to-ceiling bay windows overlooking the manicured rose gardens, and a king-sized four-poster bed draped in champagne-colored silk. An adjoining door connected our bedroom directly to Leo’s expansive nursery.
By seven in the morning, Lily was already bouncing on the plush mattress, giggling as morning sunlight spilled across her golden curls.
"Mommy! Look at the big room! Am I a real princess now?" she asked, clutching her ragged rabbit as she twirled across the Persian carpet.
"You've always been a princess, baby," I smiled, though a knot of anxiety twisted in my belly.
I was no longer wearing the scratchy black uniform with the white apron. Dominic’s head of household, Mrs. Gable, had delivered three garment bags of understated, elegant clothing that morning—cashmere sweaters, tailored trousers, and soft wool skirts. "The Don insists his son’s governess look the part," Mrs. Gable had sniffed before disappearing down the hall.
Taking a deep breath, I smoothed down my cream-colored knit sweater, slipped on a pair of dark trousers, and walked over to the connecting door.
I knocked softly. "Leo? It’s Miss Isabella. May Lily and I come in?"
There was a rustle of blankets, followed by the soft padding of small feet. The brass doorknob turned, and Leo peered out through the crack.
The six-year-old heir to the Moretti empire looked impossibly small in his navy silk pajamas. His dark hair was a messy nest of curls, and his large gray eyes—so hauntingly identical to his father's—held a mixture of wariness and desperate hope.
"Miss Isabella?" he whispered. "You're still here? Daddy didn't make you leave?"
"No, sweetheart," I said, dropping to one knee so we were at eye level. "Your daddy asked me to stay. In fact, my new job is to take care of you and Lily. We're going to spend every day together."
Leo’s eyes widened, shimmering with unshed tears. For a boy who rarely showed emotion, the crack in his facade was heartbreaking. Suddenly, he threw his small arms around my neck, burying his face into my shoulder.
"I thought he was going to punish you because of the bubbles," he muffled against my collarbone.
My heart melted into a puddle. I wrapped my arms around him, holding him securely against me, feeling his small frame tremble. "No one is in trouble, Leo. Not you, not Lily, not me. Everything is going to be alright."
Lily scampered through the door, carrying a plastic tea set she had brought from our old room. "Leo! Look! We can have tea with Mr. Bun-Bun!"
Leo pulled back from my embrace, wiping his eyes quickly with the sleeve of his pajamas, looking embarrassed. But when he saw Lily holding up a tiny pink teacup, the shadow lifted from his face, replaced by a shy, genuine smile.
"Okay," Leo whispered. "I'll be the prince."
***
An hour later, I escorted both children down to the ground floor for breakfast.
The formal dining room was massive, dominated by a twenty-foot mahogany table beneath an antique crystal chandelier. At the head of the table sat Dominic, dressed in an impeccably tailored charcoal-gray three-piece suit. A leather folder of syndicate reports lay open to his left, while a cup of black coffee sat untouched to his right.
Flanking the doorway were two of Dominic's most trusted lieutenants.
To the left stood Dante: thirty years old, broad-shouldered, quiet, with sharp, vigilant eyes that never stopped tracking movement. To the right stood Marco: Dominic's second-in-command and childhood friend. Marco was tall, suave, with slicked-back dark hair and a charming grin that never quite reached his cold, calculating eyes.
As we entered, Marco leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms.
"Well, well," Marco drawled, his voice smooth as snake oil. "Look who got promoted from scrubbing floors to ruling the west wing. You must have some incredible talents, Isabella."
The insinuation was filthy, and it made my skin crawl.
Before I could open my mouth, the sharp sound of ceramic hitting wood cracked through the room.
Dominic had set his coffee cup down with precise, lethal force. He didn't raise his voice, but the sudden drop in temperature in the dining room was palpable.
"Marco," Dominic said smoothly, not even looking up from his paperwork. "Speak to Miss Carter with respect, or I will have Dante remove your tongue and feed it to the hounds. Do we understand each other?"
Marco’s smirk vanished instantly. His posture straightened, a flash of humiliation and venom darting across his eyes before he bowed his head. "Understood, boss. My apologies, Miss Carter."
"Sit," Dominic commanded, gesturing to the seats closest to him.
I helped Lily into a chair on his right, sitting beside her, while Leo took the seat directly across from his father. The tension at the table was thick enough to choke on. A maid brought out silver trays of scrambled eggs, fresh fruit, warm pastries, and pancakes shaped like bear faces—a special touch I had requested from the kitchen staff earlier.
Leo's eyes lit up when he saw the bear pancake. "Look, Daddy! It has blueberry eyes!"
Dominic looked up from his papers, his gaze softening as he looked at his son. "Yes, it does. Eat your breakfast, Leo. You need your strength."
"Miss Isabella helped make them," Leo added proudly, taking a small bite.
Dominic’s gray eyes shifted to me. There was something intensely magnetic and dangerously intimate in the way he looked at me, as if he were peeling back the layers of my mind. "Is that so? Thank you, Isabella."
"It was no trouble, sir," I replied, cutting Lily’s pancake into manageable bites.
"Dante," Dominic spoke without breaking eye contact with me. "Clear the schedule for this afternoon. I am remaining at the estate."
Marco took a step forward from the wall, his brow furrowing. "Dominic, you have the sit-down with the North End docks committee at two. If you don't show, they'll think you're showing weakness after the shipment seizure last week."
"Then you will go in my place, Marco," Dominic said coldly, turning a sharp glance toward his lieutenant. "Tell them my terms are non-negotiable. If they refuse the split, burn the warehouse. Am I unclear?"
"No, boss," Marco said, his jaw tightening. "I'll handle it."
With a curt nod, Marco spun on his heel and strode out of the dining room. As he passed, his jacket shifted, pulling the fabric taut across his right shoulder blade.
My breath caught in my throat.
Just beneath the collar of his shirt, peaking up onto the right side of his neck, was a flash of dark ink.
The tip of a black feather.
My heart began to hammer in my chest. *“Daddy thinks I was too little to see who hurt her.”* What had Leo said last night before Dominic interrupted us? He had started to say something about a mark.
*A bird. A dark bird.*
I stared at Marco’s retreating back until he disappeared down the hallway, a cold dread washing over me like ice water.
"Isabella?"
Dominic's deep voice snapped me out of my trance. I jerked my head back toward him, trying desperately to mask the sheer terror radiating through my veins.
"Yes, Mr. Moretti?"
He was watching me intently, his eyes narrowed with sharp suspicion. "You look pale. Are you feeling unwell?"
"I... no, sir. Just a sudden chill. The air from the gardens is quite crisp this morning."
Dominic studied me for another agonizing heartbeat before turning his attention back to his son. "Leo. After breakfast, I want you to show Isabella the conservatory. The winter blooms have opened."
Leo smiled, nodding eagerly. "Can Lily come too?"
"Of course," Dominic said softly.
***
The conservatory was a massive, glass-domed sanctuary attached to the rear of the mansion, filled with exotic ferns, towering palms, and vibrant orchids that thrived in the humid, climate-controlled air.
While Lily chased a bright yellow butterfly near the marble fountain, I sat on a stone bench beside Leo. The warmth of the glasshouse was supposed to be comforting, but my mind was spinning with the sight of Marco’s tattoo.
I had to know. I had to know what Leo had seen three years ago.
"Leo," I began gently, keeping my voice low so the armed guards patrolling the perimeter of the glass couldn't hear. "May I ask you something?"
Leo looked up from a smooth river stone he was turning over in his hands. "About what?"
"Last night... before your father opened the door. You said something to me. You said you remembered what happened to your mommy."
Leo froze. The color drained from his rosy cheeks, and his small hands began to shake. He dropped the stone, and it bounced softly on the mossy ground.
"I'm not supposed to talk about it," he whispered, looking around frantically as if the shadows might swallow him. "Daddy gets angry. He cries when he thinks of Mommy, and then he breaks things. I don't want Daddy to be sad."
"I know, sweetheart," I said, wrapping my arm around his trembling shoulders and pulling him close. "Your daddy loves your mommy very, very much. And he loves you more than anything in the whole world. But Leo... did someone hurt her?"
Leo pressed his face into my side. A tiny whimper escaped his throat.
"We were in the car," Leo whispered, his voice cracking with the heavy burden of a memory no six-year-old should ever possess. "Mommy was driving me to the park. It was raining. Then a big black truck hit us. The car spun around and around, into the trees."
Tears began to spill down his cheeks, soaking into my knit sweater.
"Mommy was hurt. She was bleeding on her forehead. She told me to stay down, to hide under the blanket in the back. Then... then the car door opened."
"Who opened it, Leo?" I breathed, my heart aching for the terrified toddler he had been.
"A man in a black coat," Leo shuddered. "Mommy screamed. She said, *'You? How could you?'* And the man... he had a gun. He pointed it at Mommy. I peeked from under the blanket. I didn't see his face because he had a mask. But his sleeve was pulled up when he held the gun."
"What did you see on his arm, Leo?"
"A big black bird," Leo sobbed quietly. "With sharp claws. A raven. It was flying on his arm."
My blood ran completely cold.
A raven.
Marco had a massive black raven tattooed across his right shoulder and upper arm, the wings spanning onto his neck. It was his signature ink—everyone in the Boston underworld knew Marco "The Crow" Valenti.
Elena Moretti hadn't been killed by rival syndicates.
She had been assassinated by Dominic’s best friend. Dominic’s right-hand man. The man who sat at his breakfast table, who handled his money, who commanded half of his soldiers.
And Marco didn't know the boy remembered.
"Leo," I whispered, holding his trembling face in both of my hands, looking directly into his tear-filled gray eyes. "Listen to me very carefully. You must never, ever speak of this to anyone. Not to the guards, not to Marco, not to anyone until I tell you. Do you understand?"
"What about Daddy?" Leo cried softly. "Should I tell Daddy?"
"I will handle your daddy," I promised, my voice fierce with maternal protection. "I won't let anyone hurt you, Leo. I swear to you on my life."
Suddenly, the heavy glass doors of the conservatory were thrown open with a violent crash.
Dante ran into the glasshouse, his assault rifle unslung, his eyes wide with urgency.
"Miss Carter! Get the children down!" Dante roared.
Before I could even process his command, a sharp, deafening *CRACK* shattered the glass dome above us. Shards of heavy glass rained down like daggers.
May you like
A sniper.
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