Chapter 3 - The shadow of a lullaby
The silence between them felt lethal. Dante stepped into the study, his tall, broad-shouldered frame blocking the only exit. He didn't yell. He didn't raise his voice. His frighteningly calm demeanor was far more terrifying than any outburst. He slowly knelt on the floor, his large hands carefully picking up the shattered pieces of glass, completely ignoring Emma’s trembling form.
"I... I am so sorry," Emma stammered, stepping back until her spine hit the mahogany bookshelf. "I was just looking for the kitchen. The door was open."
Dante stood up, placing the broken frame back on the desk. He finally looked at her, his expression entirely unreadable. "My wife, Elena, died a year ago. This was her study. The staff is forbidden from entering."
Emma’s heart skipped a beat. Died. The restaurant manager, Tony, had said she "left." Why the discrepancy? She swallowed the rising panic, keeping her face as neutral as possible. "She was very beautiful. Sophia looks just like her."
Dante’s jaw tightened. "Go back to Sophia. And do not wander my home again, Emma."
The next three days blurred into a tense, fragile routine. Emma became a permanent fixture in the penthouse, officially hired as Sophia’s nanny for a salary that could wipe out her debts in months. Dante was rarely home during the day, consumed by his shadowy empire, but he always returned by dinner, sitting at the long dining table, watching Emma and Sophia interact with quiet, piercing intensity.
Sophia remained mostly silent, but the dark circles under her eyes began to fade. She clung to Emma, dragging her stuffed bunny everywhere. One evening, a violent thunderstorm rolled over Manhattan, rattling the massive floor-to-ceiling windows. Sophia panicked, hiding under the grand piano in the living room, pressing her hands over her ears.
Emma crawled under the piano, pulling the trembling child into her lap. She began to hum a soft, melancholic lullaby, stroking Sophia’s hair until the little girl’s breathing slowed.
"Where did you learn that song?"
Emma gasped, hitting her head on the wood of the piano. Dante was standing right beside them, the lightning illuminating the harsh, devastating angles of his face. His dark eyes were wide, completely stripped of their usual restraint.
"My... my mother used to sing it to me," Emma lied smoothly, pulling Sophia closer.
Dante crouched down, his face inches from Emma’s. The scent of his expensive cologne and rain mixed in the air. "That song is an old dialect from a village in Sicily. It isn't recorded anywhere. Only my wife knew it. She sang it to Sophia every night."
Emma’s fair skin turned completely pale. She had learned it from Clara. Clara sang it to her when they were children. The realization hit her like a physical blow—her sister hadn't just been involved with the Russo family. Clara was connected to Elena.
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Before Dante could press her further, the heavy penthouse doors burst open. Tony, the restaurant manager, stumbled into the foyer, his white shirt torn, gasping for breath. Dante stood up instantly, his entire body shifting into a terrifying, lethal readiness.
"Boss," Tony choked out, looking frantically at Emma. "The council... they know about the girl. They know you kept her."
