Chapter 3 - The Mafia Boss Who Couldn’t Save His Wife|
I didn't remember sitting down.
One moment, I was standing in Mrs. Dawson's hallway.
The next, I was on her faded green couch, staring at my phone as though Luca Moretti had reached through it and shattered my entire life.
"Your wife?"
The words barely escaped my mouth.
"Her name was Sofia."
Luca's voice had lost its earlier sharpness.
"She died six weeks ago."
I closed my eyes.
Six weeks.
That was how long Leo had been refusing everyone.
Suddenly, the baby's desperate crying made a terrible kind of sense.
"Leo's mother."
"Yes."
"I'm sorry."
Luca didn't respond immediately.
When he finally spoke, his voice was almost empty.
"So am I."
I thought about the man I'd met at Table Twelve.
The expensive suit.
The tattoos.
The frightening reputation.
The way he'd looked at his son as though the little boy were the only thing keeping him attached to the world.
For a moment, I stopped thinking about Luca Moretti as a dangerous stranger.
I thought of him as a widower who had no idea how to make his baby stop crying.
Then I remembered my mother's photograph.
"Why was Sofia looking for Elena?"
"I can explain some of it."
"Then explain everything."
"Not over the phone."
I nearly laughed.
"Of course not."
"Avery—"
"No, you don't get to do that."
My anger rose so quickly that it frightened me.
"You don't get to tell me my mother might be alive and then decide when I'm allowed to hear the rest."
He let me finish.
That surprised me.
Most men interrupted when they felt challenged.
Luca seemed to be listening.
"You're right," he said finally.
I stared at the phone.
"Are you always this agreeable when someone's furious with you?"
"No."
"Wonderful."
"But you deserve answers."
I heard a child's cry in the background.
Then another.
Luca exhaled.
"Leo just woke up."
Something softened inside me.
"Is he okay?"
"He will be."
The baby cried harder.
I could hear Luca moving.
A low, soothing voice followed, almost too quiet to understand.
"Easy, little man."
My chest tightened.
"Try holding him against your shoulder."
"I am."
"Walk slowly."
"I am."
"Don't sound so irritated."
"I'm not irritated."
"You're doing an excellent impression."
For the first time, Luca gave a low, unexpected laugh.
Then Leo cried even louder.
"I take it back," I said.
"What?"
"Your son clearly doesn't appreciate my comedy."
A pause followed.
"Can I come to you?"
The question startled me.
I looked toward Mrs. Dawson, who was pretending not to listen while gripping her baseball bat.
"Why?"
"Because someone has threatened you, and my son's mother died while investigating the same people."
That answer was difficult to argue with.
But I wasn't ready to put my life into his hands.
"Twenty minutes," I said.
"Where?"
"My neighbor's apartment."
"Send the address."
"And Luca?"
"Yes?"
"Come alone."
He hesitated.
Then answered.
"I'll bring one driver."
"That's not alone."
"He's driving, not attending."
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
Twenty-eight minutes later, someone knocked.
Mrs. Dawson checked the peephole.
Then she turned toward me.
"Honey, there's a very large man outside holding a baby."
I hurried to the door.
Luca stood beneath the flickering hallway light in a black coat, with a sleeping Leo against his chest.
For someone so intimidating, he looked remarkably unprepared for a November night with an infant.
Leo wore a cream-colored sweater, soft pants, and one blue sock.
The other foot was bare.
I lifted the sock from my purse.
"I believe your son lost something."
Luca looked down.
Then back at me.
"He has a habit of doing that."
"Apparently."
I moved aside.
He entered carefully, looking around the little apartment without making any comment about the worn furniture or peeling wallpaper.
That earned him a small amount of respect.
Mrs. Dawson studied his tattoos.
Then his expensive watch.
Then the baby.
"You hungry, sweetheart?"
Luca blinked.
"Excuse me?"
"I made chicken soup."
For the first time, I saw Luca Moretti genuinely speechless.
He looked at me.
I shrugged.
"She feeds everyone."
Ten minutes later, one of New York's most feared men was sitting at Mrs. Dawson's kitchen table eating homemade soup.
Leo slept in a borrowed blanket across his father's lap.
The sight was absurd.
It was also strangely heartbreaking.
Luca placed a small photograph on the table.
It showed a beautiful brunette woman with kind eyes and a bright smile.
She was holding Leo, who looked much smaller.
"Sofia," he said.
I studied her face.
Then I pulled out my mother's photograph.
The resemblance was unmistakable.
The young woman beside Elena Bennett was Sofia Moretti.
Luca leaned forward.
"Where did you get that?"
"It belonged to my mother."
He picked it up carefully.
"That's the North Star Center."
"What is it?"
"A nonprofit organization that provides emergency housing and medical support to vulnerable families."
"And Sofia worked there?"
"She volunteered there before we married."
He turned the photograph over.
When he saw my mother's handwriting, his expression changed.
"What?"
He didn't answer immediately.
"Luca."
He placed the photograph down.
"Three months before Sofia died, she began investigating missing money from the center."
"How much?"
"Millions."
My stomach tightened.
"Who took it?"
"That's what she was trying to find out."
"And my mother?"
"She worked in the hospital accounting department that originally handled the center's donations."
I stared at him.
"My mother was a bookkeeper."
"I know."
"She hated anything complicated."
"Apparently, she was very good at finding things other people wanted hidden."
Mrs. Dawson quietly carried her dishes to the sink.
Luca lowered his voice.
"Sofia discovered that seven years ago, your mother reported financial irregularities to the hospital board."
"And?"
"Three days later, she supposedly died."
A cold shiver moved through me.
"Supposedly."
Luca nodded.
"Sofia believed the death was staged."
"By whom?"
"We don't know."
I stared at the two photographs.
Then at Leo.
"Did Sofia die because she found out?"
Luca's eyes darkened.
"The police called it a car accident."
"But you don't believe them."
"I haven't believed them since the night I buried her."
His voice cracked on the final word.
It was so unexpected that I couldn't look away.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
He nodded without meeting my eyes.
Then Leo stirred.
His tiny hand reached blindly toward my necklace.
I leaned closer.
"Hello, sweetheart."
The moment my pendant brushed his fingers, he settled.
Luca watched him.
"Sofia used to sing him a lullaby."
"What kind?"
"An old song about following the North Star home."
I felt something twist inside my chest.
My mother had sung me that same lullaby when I was little.
I looked up sharply.
"Luca, what if Sofia wasn't searching for my mother?"
His expression shifted.
"What do you mean?"
I glanced at the photograph.
"What if she'd already found her?"
Luca went completely still.
Then he reached for his phone.
"There's someone you need to meet."
"Who?"
"An attorney who worked with Sofia."
He stood slowly, carefully shifting Leo against his shoulder.
"Her name is Iris Shaw."
"Can we trust her?"
Luca looked down at his son.
"That's the question I'm hoping she'll answer."
Then his phone lit up.
I saw the name before he turned the screen away.
VINCENT MORETTI.
Luca's expression hardened.
And when he answered, the warmth disappeared from his voice.
"Uncle."
I froze.
His next words made my heart stop.
"No, Vincent."
May you like
His eyes met mine.
"She's not coming anywhere near you."
