Chapter 2 - Shadows Behind the Glass
The woman standing forty feet away near the edge of the paved park trail was dressed in a tailored cream suit, her dark hair pinned up with understated elegance. She looked like the picture of an affluent, devoted stepmother out for an afternoon errand in Midtown Atlanta.
Victoria.
My second wife. The woman I had married three years after Lila’s biological mother died in a quiet hospital room in Savannah.
Victoria was holding a paper cup from an artisanal tea shop down the street, her expression smooth, composed, and utterly serene. But as her eyes landed on the homeless boy standing beside me, a barely perceptible flicker of tension crossed her brow—a microscopic tightening around her eyes that only a man trained in surviving street wars for twenty years would ever spot.
“Vincent?” Victoria called out, her voice melodic and gentle as she stepped off the gravel path, her high heels clicking softly against the concrete. “I thought that was you. I called your phone three times. Marcus said you brought Lila to Centennial Park.”
Beside me, the boy backed away until his shoulders bumped into the rough bark of the oak tree. He didn't say another word. The color was entirely drained from his face, his gaze glued to the ground as if looking Victoria in the eye would burn him alive.
“Daddy?” Lila murmured, her tiny hand clutching my leather jacket tightly, her white cane tapping lightly against my shoe. “Is that Mommy Victoria?”
I didn't answer right away. Every instinct that had kept me alive through two decades of mob wars was screaming at me.
If this boy was lying—if this was a setup by a rival crime syndicate to fracture my family from the inside—then killing him would be too merciful. But if he was telling the truth... if the woman who kissed my daughter goodnight every evening was systematically blinding her...
I forced my expression into a calm, unreadable mask.
“I left my phone in the car, Victoria,” I said, my voice steady, carrying that low, gravelly tone that commanded immediate obedience in every boardroom and dark alley in Atlanta. “What are you doing in Midtown?”
Victoria smiled, stepping closer and reaching out to pat Lila’s sweater-clad shoulder. The boy winced at the movement, taking another two steps back into the bushes.
“I was at the pharmacy picking up Lila’s evening drop supplements,” Victoria replied smoothly, holding up a small white paper bag bearing the logo of an exclusive private apothecary in Buckhead. “Dr. Sterling called to say the new formulation arrived from Switzerland. He wants us to increase her dosage starting tonight.”
Dr. Sterling. The high-priced neuro-ophthalmologist I had paid a quarter of a million dollars to oversee Lila’s care.
“Is that so?” I murmured, my eyes dropping to the white paper bag in her hand.
“Who is that boy, Vincent?” Victoria asked, her eyes finally turning toward the ragged child crouching near the bushes. Her tone was patronizing, painted over with rich-lady pity. “Is he begging? You know how unsafe it is to let strangers near Lila right now.”
The boy didn't wait for my reply. He turned on his heel and bolted into the thick foliage behind the park pavilion, his scuffed sneakers slapping against the dirt until the sound vanished into the city traffic.
Victoria sighed softly, shaking her head. “Poor thing. Atlanta’s youth services are so underfunded.” She reached down, taking Lila’s small, cold hand. “Come on, sweetheart. The air is getting chilly. Let’s get you home to the estate. I had Maria prepare your favorite herbal soup.”
Herbal soup.
The words echoed inside my skull like a gunshot. For six months, Victoria had personally overseen Lila’s special diet, claiming that organic, clean meals were the only thing keeping the girl’s immune system strong while her optic nerves deteriorated.
I stared at the back of Victoria’s head as she guided my blind daughter toward the waiting black armored Suburban parked by the curb.
My heart was hammering against my ribs, heavy and lethal.
“Marcus,” I said quietly into the hidden radio collar mic pinned beneath my lapel as I followed them.
“Sir?” my chief of security replied instantly through the earpiece.
“The boy who just ran into the north woods of Centennial Park,” I growled, stepping into the SUV behind my wife and daughter. “I want him found. I want him brought to the warehouse on Bankhead Highway within the hour. Do not harm him. Do not let anyone see you take him.”
“Consider it done, Boss.”
I pulled the heavy armored door shut, plunging the cabin into cool, tinted silence. Victoria was already unscrewing the cap of a small glass dropper bottle from the pharmacy bag, tilting Lila’s head back gently.
“Just three drops before we drive, darling,” Victoria cooed softly. “It keeps the pressure in your eyes low.”
Lila winced slightly, but held still like she had been taught to do a hundred times before. “It burns, Mommy.”
“I know, sweetie. Medicine always stings a little when it’s working.”
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I sat across from them in the leather captain's chairs, my hands resting flat on my knees. I watched the clear liquid squeeze from the rubber bulb, falling drop by drop into my daughter’s pale, vacant eyes.
And for the first time in my life, Vincent Moretti felt a cold, terrifying chill that had nothing to do with fear of my enemies, and everything to do with the monster sitting four feet away from me in a cream-colored suit.
