Chapter 4
The silence that followed Maria’s confession was deafening. The crackle of the fireplace sounded like thunder in the motionless room.
Moretti stood frozen, his muscular chest heaving beneath his unbuttoned black shirt. The intricate black ink on his neck and chest flexed as his jaw locked into a tight, murderous line.
A traitor inside the family.
For ten years, Moretti had operated under the belief that Luca’s murder was an external ambush planned by Don Vincenzo’s rival family in the North End. He had wiped out Vincenzo's inner circle in a bloody two-year war, believing justice had been served. But if Luca had known about an internal traitor hours before his death, it meant the real monster had been sitting at Moretti's own decision table for a decade.
"Where is the box now, Maria?" Moretti asked, his voice dropping into a chillingly calm, lethal register that made even Caesar lift his head in attention.
"It's still in my quarters, sir," Maria whimpered, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. "In the closet. I swear on my life, Mr. Moretti, I never opened it! I was terrified! When you offered me the job as head cook four years ago, I brought it here because I thought it was safer near you, but I was too afraid to tell you!"
"Frank," Moretti barked without turning his head.
"Sir!" Frank stepped into the room instantly.
"Escort Maria down to her quarters. Have her retrieve the box and bring it directly back to this desk. No one else sees her. No one else speaks to her."
"Understood, Mr. Moretti," Frank said, gesturing for Maria to follow him.
"Sophie stays here," Moretti added softly.
Maria hesitated, looking at her daughter, but Sophie offered her a bright, reassuring smile, waving her wooden magic wand. "Go get the magic box, Mommy! I'm taking care of the gentleman and the puppy!"
Maria nodded tearfully and hurried out of the study with Frank, leaving Moretti, Sophie, and Caesar alone once more.
Moretti walked back to his armchair and sat down heavily. He reached out his tattooed hand, picking up the untouched glass of red wine he had been staring at for hours. He didn't drink it. He simply held it, his mind reconstructing every detail of the night Luca died.
Ten years ago, his senior captain, Victor Sabato, had been the one to report Luca's location in the South Side. Sabato had claimed he received an anonymous tip about Vincenzo's hitmen moving on the alleyway. Sabato had been the one who urged Moretti to launch the retaliatory war that consumed Chicago.
"Mister?" Sophie's sweet voice broke through his dark thoughts.
Moretti looked down. The little girl had pulled a small wooden footstool over to his chair and climbed up beside him, her translucent golden wings rustling softly. She reached out her tiny hand and gently touched his silver wristwatch.
"Is your heart hurting?" Sophie asked innocently, her big blue eyes filled with genuine concern.
Moretti looked at her—at her golden curls, her pale-yellow ribbons, her sweet princess dress—and felt a strange, unfamiliar warmth spreading through his chest.
"Yes, Sophie," Moretti murmured softly, his deep voice raspy. "My heart has been hurting for a very long time."
May you like
"My wand can fix it," Sophie smiled brightly, hovering the sparkling golden star over his chest, right over his heart tattoo. "I make a wish that your brother watches over you tonight."
Moretti closed his eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath as the child's innocent words washed over his wounded soul.
