Chapter 3 - The Secret in the Garden
Two days after the confrontation with Vance at the docks, the rain finally cleared, leaving the air crisp, sharp, and smelling of wet pine and damp earth.
The Morti estate was surrounded by three miles of private woodland and security fencing, creating an isolated sanctuary that felt worlds away from the violent underworld of downtown Chicago. Yet, safety had a price. Every tree line was watched; every foot of perimeter wall was monitored by thermal cameras.
Alina sat by the east wing window again, but today the wheelchair was unlocked. She stared out at the sunlit gardens, watching the dew glisten on the rosebushes her mother had planted years ago.
The door pushed open without a knock—a privilege only granted to one small person in the entire household.
Sophia marched in carrying a yellow plastic bucket filled with dirt, a trowel, and three small, drooping violet flowers she had somehow managed to smuggle from the greenhouse.
"We're going to plant them," Sophia announced, dropping the bucket onto the Persian rug with a loud thud.
Alina looked down at the dirt and then up at the five-year-old in confusion. "Plant what? Sophia, your mother will kill you if you make a mess in here."
"Not in here, silly. Outside." Sophia walked right up to the wheelchair, grabbed Alina’s cold hand, and tugged with all her might. "Come on. The sun is out. The worms are waking up."
"Sophia, I can't just go outside," Alina sighed, a familiar wave of frustration chest-deep. "You know I can't walk down the steps. The terrace has four stone stairs before you even reach the lawn."
"I'll help you," Sophia said simply, as if hauling a ten-year-old girl down a flight of stone steps was no more difficult than carrying a doll.
"You can't. You're too small."
"I'm strong," Sophia insisted, puffing out her chest. "My mama says I have the stubbornness of a mule. I don't know what a mule is, but she said it means I don't quit."
Alina couldn't help the small laugh that escaped her lips. Despite everything—the endless physical therapy, the silent arguments between her parents, the ghost of her dead brother haunting every corner of the house—this little girl had an uncanny ability to punch holes through the heavy gray fog that surrounded Alina's mind.
Just then, the door opened further, and Isabella Morti stepped into the room.
Alina’s mother looked exhausted. Dark circles bruised the skin beneath her eyes, and her posture was permanently curved under an invisible weight. Since the night of the accident, Isabella had barely left the east wing, retreating into a quiet, mourning shell that even Marco’s immense wealth could not penetrate.
She looked down at Sophia and the bucket of dirt, then up at Alina.
For a fraction of a second, something resembling life flickered in Isabella's hollow eyes.
"What are you two plotting?" Isabella asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
"We're going to the garden, Mrs. Morti," Sophia declared with absolute authority. "Alina needs vitamin D. The doctor on the TV said so."
Isabella managed a fragile, bittersweet smile. She walked over, resting a gentle hand on Alina’s shoulder. "Do you want to go outside, sweetheart?"
Alina looked at the terrace stairs, then at the bright blue sky, and finally down at Sophia’s expectant face. For the first time in five months, the thought of leaving the sterile, silent confines of the bedroom didn't feel terrifying. It felt necessary.
"Yes," Alina whispered. "I want to go outside."
Ten minutes later, the impossible happened.
Marco Morti, returning early from his security meetings at the compound, walked around the side of the mansion and stopped dead in his tracks on the gravel path near the rose garden.
There was his daughter, Alina, sitting in her wheelchair on the edge of the stone patio. But she wasn't alone. Sophia was crouched beside the footrests, carefully wrapping Alina’s hands around the small plastic trowel, while Isabella stood nearby holding a watering can, tears quietly streaming down her face as she watched them.
Marco felt a sharp, sudden ache in his chest. He had spent millions hunting down the men who broke his family, yet he had forgotten how to build it back up.
Seeing him approach, Sophia stood up, dusted the dirt off her knees, and pointed an accusatory finger at Marco.
"Mr. Morti!" she called out, entirely unafraid of the most feared mob boss in the Midwest. "You have too many rocks in your dirt. It’s hard to dig."
Marco blinked, caught completely off guard. He looked from Sophia to Alina, whose face was illuminated by the warm afternoon sun, a genuine, unforced smile gracing her lips.
A slow, heavy emotion settled in Marco's chest—something dangerously close to hope.
He walked over, knelt down right beside the wheelchair, just as he had done a few nights ago, and looked up at his daughter.
"Do you need a stronger shovel, princess?" Marco asked gently.
May you like
Alina looked down at her father, her eyes shining with unshed tears, and for the first time in five months, she didn't turn away.
"No, Papa," she said, her grip tightening around the little plastic trowel Sophia had given her. "We're doing just fine."
