Chapter 8 - Strawberry Ice Cream
One month later.
The autumn leaves had turned brilliant red and gold along the quiet streets of Sunset Park, swirling across the sidewalks in the crisp October wind.
A small white townhouse sitting on the corner of 6th Avenue had a new coat of blue paint on the shutters, a freshly swept porch, and a small flower box filled with yellow chrysanthemums beneath the front window.
I stood on the sidewalk, wearing a charcoal-gray wool coat, watching a small moving truck pull away from the curb.
The townhouse belonged to Maria Alvarez.
It wasn't a gift from the syndicate. It was purchased through an independent family trust I had established for Sophia, funded entirely by the liquidated assets seized from Marco Ricci’s offshore accounts. Maria held the deed. She would never have to work a maid’s shift or worry about rent money again.
The front door opened, and Sophia came running down the wooden steps, wearing a bright red coat and small brown boots.
“Mister!” she shouted, throwing her small arms around my knees.
I knelt down on the cold sidewalk, holding her small shoulders, adjusting the hood of her coat to cover her ears.
“How is the new house, Sophia?” I asked.
“It’s big!” she declared, pointing at the second-floor window. “My room has yellow walls! And a big bed for my teddy bear!”
Maria walked down the steps, wearing a warm woolen sweater, a light color returning to her face for the first time in nine months. She stopped beside us, looking at me with deep, quiet gratitude that required no words.
“Mr. Moretti,” Maria said softly. “The school counselor called today. Sophia’s teacher said she’s doing wonderfully. She... she talks about Family Day all the time.”
I stood up, adjusting my collar against the cool autumn wind.
“She’s a smart girl, Maria,” I said. “Make sure she stays that way.”
“We’re going to the park now,” Sophia announced, grabbing my thumb with her warm hand. “Mama said we have ice-cream money today. Strawberry!”
I looked down at her dark, clear eyes, feeling the quiet, unshakeable peace that had settled over my life since the day a purple crayon landed on my desk.
“I can’t go to the park today, Sophia,” I said gently, tapping her nose with my finger. “I have a lot of work to do in the city.”
Sophia pouted for half a second, then looked up at me with a serious, negotiating expression that looked suspiciously like my chief defense attorney’s.
“Then can I borrow you next Family Day?” she asked.
I looked up at Maria, who smiled softly, then back down at the three-year-old girl standing on the sidewalk in her bright red coat.
“Sophia,” I said, pulling a fresh silver dollar from my pocket and placing it into her small palm. “You can borrow me whenever you want.”
May you like
She beamed, clutching the heavy coin, and turned to run toward the park gate at the end of the block, her small boots crunching happily through the fallen red leaves.
I turned my coat collar up against the wind, stepped into the back seat of my waiting car, and drove back toward the city, leaving the shadows of the past behind in the clear afternoon light.
