Chapter 4 - Shadows and Silk
By three in the morning, the estate was silent.
Leo was sound asleep in a massive, custom-built nursery decorated in soft blues and creams. Clara sat on the edge of the plush armchair beside his crib, her shoes off, her head resting against the winged back of the chair. She was exhausted down to her bones, but every time she tried to slip her hand away from Leo's grip, his tiny eyebrows would knit together in panic.
The heavy oak door creaked open. Rico stepped into the dim room, having changed into a dark grey sweater and trousers. The ruthless mafia boss looked almost human in the soft nightlight, though the sheer size of him still dominated the room.
He walked silently over to the crib and looked down at his son. For the first time in six months, Leo’s face was peaceful. There were no night terrors wracking his small frame.
"He hasn't slept three consecutive hours since the funeral," Rico said quietly, his eyes fixed on his son. "My sister tried. Nurses tried. He bit them all."
"He didn't need a nurse, Mr. Moretti," Clara murmured. "He needed someone to acknowledge that his whole world fell apart, instead of telling him to be a brave little boy."
Rico slowly turned his head to look at her. In the quiet darkness, his gaze was intoxicating—heavy, intense, and terrifyingly focused. "You're smart for a girl from the docks."
"I'm not from the docks," Clara corrected gently. "I'm from Ohio. And I know what it feels like to lose everything in a second."
Rico stepped closer. The faint scent of expensive cologne, rain, and fine tobacco drifted over her. "What are you running from, Clara?"
Clara stiffened, her posture going rigid. "I'm not running from anything."
"Don't lie to me," Rico warned, his voice a low, gravelly purr. "Dante ran your fingerprints the moment we stepped into the car. Clara Vance. Twenty-four years old. No bank accounts, no credit history, paying rent in cash to a slumlord in Crown Heights. Six months ago, a high-end financial analyst named Clara Vance vanished from Columbus, Ohio, the same night her ex-fiancé’s illegal gambling house was raided by federal agents."
Clara felt the room spin. She tried to pull her hand away from Leo, but Rico reached out, his warm, thick fingers gently wrapping around her wrist—not to hurt her, but to hold her steady.
"His name is Julian Vance," Clara whispered, tears burning the backs of her eyes. "He wasn't just a gambler. He was a loan shark. When the feds moved in, he tried to frame me for his money laundering scheme. When I threatened to talk, he... he made sure I knew what would happen to me if I didn't run."
She touched the faint scar on her jawline.
Rico's thumb brushed lightly over her knuckles. His touch was surprisingly gentle for a man whose hands were stained with blood. His eyes turned colder than absolute zero.
"Julian Vance," Rico repeated the name, carving it into his memory. "Does he know you're in New York?"
"No," Clara choked out. "I changed my name. I took minimum wage jobs. I just wanted to survive."
Rico let go of her wrist, taking a step back. "You aren't just surviving anymore, Clara. You're taking care of my son. Which means anyone hunting you is hunting my family."
May you like
He walked toward the door, stopping with his hand on the brass handle.
"Get some rest," Rico said softly without looking back. "Tomorrow, my lawyers will wipe your record clean. And Julian Vance will find out what happens when you threaten something that belongs to Ricardo Moretti."
