Chapter 3 - The midnight lullaby
Rosa shoved the drawing into the pocket of her black maid dress and ran back to her room, locking the door behind her. Her mind was racing. Someone was truly behind that door. Someone who could see Sophia’s drawings slipped underneath the crack. Someone who was begging Rosa to protect the child.
The next few days in the mansion were agonizing. Dante was rarely seen, locked in meetings with syndicate captains in his lower-level study. The atmosphere in the house was thick with impending violence; the rival cartel, the Vargas family, had been making moves on Falcone territory.
Despite Dante’s warning, Rosa couldn't keep her eyes off the mafia boss. There was a dangerous, unspoken pull between them. Whenever he was in the room, his dark eyes would track her movements. He was a man made of ice and violence, yet he had genuinely laughed at a three-year-old mimicking his walk.
One rainy afternoon, Rosa was dusting the grand library. Sophia was sitting on the Persian rug, aggressively coloring a picture of a dragon.
The heavy library doors opened, and Dante walked in. He looked exhausted, the sleeves of his black shirt rolled up to expose the intricate, dark tattoos wrapping around his muscular forearms. He poured himself a glass of whiskey at the cart, not saying a word.
Sophia looked up from her drawing. She didn't see a terrifying mafia boss. She saw the man she had decided was her friend. She picked up her crayon and boldly marched over to him, tugging on his tailored black trousers.
Dante looked down, his expression hardening. But Sophia just held up a purple crayon.
"Draw a dragon with me," Sophia demanded.
Rosa dropped her dusting cloth, rushing forward. "Sophia, no, leave Mr. Falcone alone—"
"It's fine, Rosa," Dante said, his voice surprisingly calm. He set his whiskey glass down. To Rosa’s absolute shock, the billionaire crime lord slowly lowered his massive frame to sit cross-legged on the Persian rug. He took the purple crayon from Sophia’s tiny hand.
For twenty minutes, the room was silent except for the sound of rain against the glass and the scratching of crayons. Rosa stood by the bookshelf, her heart doing strange, fluttering things in her chest as she watched Dante meticulously color a purple dragon, his heavily tattooed arm moving gently so he wouldn't bump Sophia.
"You are very protective of her," Dante said quietly, not looking up from the paper.
"She is all I have in this world," Rosa replied softly. "I will do whatever it takes to keep her safe."
Dante finally looked up, his dark eyes locking onto hers. The intensity in his gaze stripped away the space between them. "Safety is an illusion, Rosa. In my world, the only thing that keeps you alive is power."
"Then why keep someone locked away where they have no power?" the words slipped out of Rosa’s mouth before she could stop them.
The purple crayon snapped in Dante’s hand. He stood up slowly, the terrifying, emotionally guarded boss returning in full force. "Do not push your luck, Rosa. I allowed you to stay because Sophia brings a light into this house that it hasn't seen in years. But if you dig into my shadows, you will fall into them."
He walked out of the library, leaving a heavy silence in his wake.
That night, the thunderstorm worsened. Thunder shook the estate. Rosa knew Sophia hated the storms. When she went to check the child’s bed, it was empty. Panic seized her. Rosa ran into the hallway, sprinting straight toward the forbidden east wing.
The hallway was dark, the chandeliers flickering from the storm. At the end of the corridor, sitting right in front of the locked oak door, was Sophia.
Rosa ran to her, falling to her knees. "Sophia! What did I tell you about coming here?"
"She's scared of the thunder," Sophia whispered, pointing at the bottom of the door.
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Rosa froze. Over the sound of the crashing rain outside, a sound was coming from inside the locked room. It was a woman’s voice. She wasn't screaming. She was singing a soft, haunting lullaby.
Rosa recognized the melody instantly. Her blood turned to ice. It was the exact same lullaby Rosa’s mother used to sing to her when she was a little girl, a song from a tiny, obscure village in Italy that no one else knew.
