Chapter 2 - Shadows of the Romano Estate
By midnight, the storm outside had broken over Lake Michigan, pounding against the thick, bulletproof windows of the Romano estate.
I sat on the edge of the oversized bed in the third-floor guest suite, my knees pulled to my chest. Down the hall, Luca was fast asleep in his bedroom, his tiny hand still grasping a piece of my wool scarf that I had let him hold so he wouldn't wake up screaming.
The door to my room swung open without a knock.
Vincent stood in the doorway, his black suit jacket gone, his crisp white dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. For the first time, I saw the thick, dark tattoos crawling up his forearms—intricate Latin phrases interwoven with roses and thorns.
He was carrying a silver tray with a pot of black tea and two porcelain cups. He placed it on the small mahogany table near the window and gestured toward it.
"Drink," he said. "You’re trembling."
"I’m sitting in a mafia boss's house after a dead man was dropped at the front gate," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "I think trembling is a reasonable reaction."
Vincent offered a faint, dry shadow of a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Fair enough."
He poured two cups, handed one to me, and sat in the velvet armchair across from the bed. He watched me over the rim of his cup, his gaze slow and calculating.
"Tell me about your mother," he commanded softly.
"Her name was Clara," I said, holding the hot teacup between my cold hands. "She was a music teacher. She died six years ago from heart failure. We were poor my entire life. My dad left before I was born. She never talked about her family. She just had that locket."
"The crest on that locket belongs to the Vane family," Vincent said flatly. "The Vanes ran the Old Syndicate in Northern Italy before my father drove them out thirty years ago. The family was thought to be entirely wiped out during the War of the Red Snow in 1998."
My throat went dry. "Wiped out? I’m from Ohio. My mother grew up in Cleveland!"
"Paper trails can be bought, Ruby. Especially by people running for their lives." Vincent leaned back, crossing one long leg over the other. "Your mother wasn't just a music teacher. She was the youngest daughter of Don Matteo Vane. Which makes you the last living bloodline of the syndicate my family destroyed."
I stared at him in disbelief. "That’s insane. I work as a maid! I scrub floors! I lived off instant noodles last week!"
"And yet," Vincent continued, "the Moretti family—our rivals in the East District—just bought your pawned locket, tracked your identity, and sent a messenger to my front door to tell me that the daughter of our oldest enemy is sitting in my nursery."
"If you think I’m here to hurt Luca—"
"If I thought you were here to hurt my son, you wouldn't be sitting in a velvet chair drinking Earl Grey tea," Vincent interrupted coldly. "You would be at the bottom of the Chicago River."
He paused, his eyes softening just a fraction—a rare glitch in his stony armor.
"Luca hasn't let anyone touch him since his mother died two years ago," Vincent admitted quietly. "Sophia... she was killed in a car bombing meant for me. Luca was in the back seat. He survived, but he stopped talking. He hated every nanny who walked through that door because they tried to replace her. But when he looked at you today... he saw something he trusted."
"He's terrified, Vincent," I said gently, dropping the formal title without realizing it. "He’s a little boy trapped in a massive fortress surrounded by men carrying guns. He doesn't need a strict nanny. He just needs someone who isn't afraid of his pain."
Vincent stared at me, his dark eyes searching my face in the dim lamplight. For a moment, the distance between us vanished, replaced by an electric, dangerous pull that made my heart leap into my throat.
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"You're bolder than you look, Ruby," he murmured.
Before I could answer, the mansion's alarm claxons began to wail, flashing red lights bathing the room in blood-colored shadows.
