Chapter 2 - The Mole in the Shadow
"She didn't disturb me, Clara," Lorenzo repeated, his voice surprisingly calm for a man who had just received a death threat from a child. "In fact, your daughter may have just saved my life."
Clara Bennett froze, her hands resting tightly on three-year-old Mia’s small shoulders. She looked between the imposing mafia boss sitting behind the heavy mahogany desk and her daughter, whose fingers were still wrapped around the faded red rubber ball.
"Saved your life?" Clara whispered, her voice trembling. "Mr. Duca, I don't understand. She's three years old. She wanders into the garden when she's playing..."
"She wandered near the eastern limestone wall," Lorenzo said, standing up slowly. At six-foot-two, dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, Lorenzo Duca was a commanding presence. He walked around the desk, his dark eyes fixed on Clara. "She heard men talking, Clara. Men who knew my exact nightly routine. Men who knew that every evening at eight o'clock, I take a ten-minute walk along the treeline near the Sound."
Clara felt the cold air in the study tighten around her chest. She had worked at the Duca estate on Long Island for three years. She knew Lorenzo was a powerful man—a man whose name made local businessmen sweat and politicians tread carefully. But she had always kept her distance, sticking to the linen closets, the guest rooms, and the endless marble corridors.
"Who was outside the wall, Mr. Duca?" Clara asked, her maternal instinct flaring up. "Is my daughter in danger?"
"No," Lorenzo said firmly, stepping closer and looking down at Mia. He crouched slightly so he was at eye level with the little girl. "Mia won't be harmed. I give you my word on that." He reached out, his thick, scarred fingers gently tucking a stray lock of red hair behind Mia's ear. "Mia, did the man with the snake tattoo say anything else?"
Mia squirmed slightly, pulling her mismatched white sock up her calf before clutching her ball again. "He said the door was left open. And he said Tony told him when to wait."
Lorenzo stopped moving.
The name hung in the quiet, lavishly appointed study like a drop of poison in clean water.
Tony.
Tony Rizzi. Lorenzo’s right-hand man for over twelve years. The man who sat at his dinner table, managed his security details, and held the keys to every safehouse in New York.
Clara watched Lorenzo’s expression change. The subtle softening that had been present when he looked at Mia completely vanished. His features hardened into stone, his jaw clenching so tightly that a muscle twitched beneath his skin.
"Clara," Lorenzo said, his voice dropping into an unnervingly quiet register. "I need you to take Mia back to your quarters. Pack a bag for both of you."
"Are you firing us?" Clara asked, panic lacing her words. "Mr. Duca, please, I have nowhere else to go. My sister’s place in Queens—"
"I am not firing you," Lorenzo interrupted, rising back to his full height. He looked directly into Clara’s hazel eyes. "I am protecting you. If the men outside realize Mia saw them, or if Tony realizes she spoke to me, this house becomes an active war zone by tomorrow night."
He walked over to a small painting on the left wall—a moody Renaissance oil of a sea storm—and swung it open, revealing a hidden wall safe. He tapped in a code, opened the door, and pulled out a heavy black leather envelope and a set of keys.
"There is a small guest cottage on the south side of the property, hidden behind the greenhouse. It isn't connected to the main security grid that Tony monitors," Lorenzo said, handing the key to Clara. "Take Mia there now. Lock the door. Do not turn on any lights. I will have old Rocco bring you food and supplies."
May you like
Clara took the heavy brass key, her hand shaking as her fingers brushed against his warm, rough palm. "And what are you going to do?"
Lorenzo glanced toward the high arched window overlooking the foggy grounds of the Long Island estate. "I'm going to host a dinner for my closest friends."
