Chapter 2 - The Shadows of the Past
Dante felt the blood in his veins run ice-cold.
"No," he said, keeping his tone carefully measured, suppressing the overwhelming surge of authority that usually defined his speech. "I am not a bad man to her. I knew your mother a long time ago. I thought... I thought she was gone."
The bold girl studied his dark suit, the heavy gold ring bearing the Russo family crest on his pinky finger, and the two broad-shouldered men hovering behind him like shadows. "She doesn't like visitors. She says if people find us, bad things will happen."
"Little girl," Nico interrupted, stepping forward with an impatient frown. "You have no idea who you're talking to—"
"Nico, back off!" Dante roared, turning his head just enough to glare at his second-in-command with lethal intensity. "Move back to the car. Both of you."
Nico and Lorenzo hesitated, surprised by the raw desperation in their leader's voice, but they obeyed instantly, retreating to the idling black SUV parked at the curb.
Dante turned back to the children. He reached into his coat and carefully removed a small, silver item he had carried in his pocket every single day for seven years—a weathered, heart-shaped locket that contained a tiny, faded photograph of Elena laughing in a sunlit meadow.
He popped the clasp open and held it out to the bold sister.
The girl looked down at the tiny photograph. Her eyes widened in genuine shock. She looked from the portrait in the locket to the canvas in Dante's hands, then back to Dante's face.
"That's Mom," the girl whispered, her suspicion melting into confusion. "She has that same smile in her old drawings."
"Her name was Elena," Dante said, his chest aching with an unbearable weight. "And my name is Dante. Please... tell me where she is. Is she sick?"
The middle sister—the one who had been holding the scarf—finally spoke up, her voice small and wavering. "She has a fever. She was coughing all night, and she couldn't get out of bed this morning. She told us to stay in the apartment, but... but there was no food left, and the medicine bottle was empty."
"So you took her painting," Dante murmured, his heart breaking for the sheer courage of the three tiny girls standing before him.
"She painted it last week," the bold sister said, her chin lifting slightly. "She told us it was a painting of a memory she couldn't remember clearly. She said every time she tried to think of the man who loved her, her head hurt."
Dante felt as though he had been struck by lightning. A memory she couldn't remember. Amnesia. Trauma. Someone had taken her, hidden her away, and stolen seven years of his life with her.
"Show me where you live," Dante commanded gently, standing up and tucking the canvas carefully under his arm. "I'll carry you."
The bold sister looked at the thick stack of bills in her hand, then looked up at Dante's towering height. "I'm Maya," she said softly. "That's Lily, and that's Chloe."
"It's nice to meet you, Maya," Dante said, extending his hand. "Let's go get your mother."
Without another word, Maya pointed down the block toward the decaying, narrow alleyways that led away from the luxury of Newbury Street toward the dilapidated tenement blocks bordering the train tracks.
Dante motioned to Nico at the SUV. "Cancel the dinner with Matteo Vane."
Nico blinked in disbelief. "Boss? Vane will take that as an insult. He's already waiting at the table with his captains. If you walk away now, it's a declaration of war."
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Dante looked down at Maya, Lily, and Chloe—at the auburn hair and green eyes that represented the only light he had ever known in his brutal existence.
"Tell Vane he can burn the North End to the ground for all I care," Dante said, his voice dropping into a register of terrifying finality. "My war started seven years ago. And tonight, I'm taking back what belongs to me."
