Chapter 3 - Shadows in the Rain
The footsteps on the narrow wooden stairs outside apartment 4B didn't try to be quiet. They were heavy, clumsy — the walk of men who relied on numbers and intimidation rather than the silent, surgical precision of the Moretti syndicate.
Alessandro didn't draw his weapon. He simply stepped back into the shadows of the tiny kitchenette, pulling the curtain slightly to look down at Lucas, who was fast asleep, his thumb tucked securely into the corner of his mouth.
The door didn't knock. It splintered.
Three men burst into the room, their wet coats smelling of cheap tobacco and stale gasoline. The leader was a thick-necked brute with a jagged scar running from his right ear to the corner of his lip — a low-level enforcer named Sal who worked for the Verretti family across the river.
"Well, look what the rain dragged in," Sal sneered, pulling a snub-nosed revolver from his belt. "The big boss himself. Down slumming in Astoria, are we? Word on the street was you took an interest in the cleaning lady’s brat."
Marco stepped out from behind the doorframe, his own silenced automatic already leveled at Sal’s forehead. "Drop it, Sal. Before I make you swallow the cylinder."
Sal froze, his eyes widening as he registered the black circle of the barrel three inches from his nose. The two men behind him hesitated, their hands hovering over their jackets.
"Hold on, hold on!" Sal laughed nervously, his hands lifting slowly into the air. "We're just here for the ledger, Moretti. The woman was keeping notes for the prosecutor. You know that, right? She was a snitch in a frilly apron."
Alessandro stepped out of the shadows. The light from the single bulb overhead caught the sharp angles of his face, turning his cheekbones into blades of ice. He walked toward Sal with a slow, deliberate cadence that made the enforcer's breath hitch.
"She wasn't a snitch," Alessandro said softly. His voice was barely above a whisper, yet it filled the tiny room with a suffocating weight. "She was a mother. And she was working two jobs because your bosses put a tax on every independent laundry in the borough."
"Hey, business is business—"
Alessandro didn't let him finish. In one fluid motion, he closed the distance between them, grabbed the barrel of Sal’s gun with his left hand, and twisted it downward with bone-crunching force. Sal screamed as his wrist snapped, the revolver clattering uselessly against the linoleum.
Before the two henchmen could react, Marco fired twice into the floor between their boots. The deafening cracks of the suppressed shots echoed like thunder in the confined space.
"Kneel," Alessandro ordered.
The two men dropped instantly, their faces pale with terror.
"You came here looking for a ledger," Alessandro said, his face inches from Sal’s sweat-slicked forehead. "You found me instead. Tell your boss — tell Vincent Verretti — that Rosa Mendes was under my roof for two years. And anyone who tracks her footsteps after she's gone answers to me."
"We didn't know—" Sal groaned, clutching his broken wrist. "We swear to God, we didn't know she had a kid with you!"
Alessandro stood up, straightening his cuffs. He looked down at the men as if they were insects crawling on the floorboards. "Get out. If I see your faces in this borough by sunrise, the river won't even give back your shoes."
They scrambled backward, dragging themselves through the splintered doorway and tumbling down the stairs like spilled gravel.
Marco lowered his weapon, sliding it back into his shoulder holster with a soft click. "They'll tell Vincent by morning. The Verrettis aren't going to like you adopting an orphan from Astoria, boss. It complicates the upcoming docks contract."
"Let them complicate it," Alessandro said, turning back toward the cot. He looked down at Lucas, who hadn't even stirred through the gunfire. "Marco."
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"Yeah?"
"Call the lawyers in the morning. I want every asset Rosa Mendes ever touched transferred into a trust bearing my name. And bring the boy’s things from the closet. He's coming home with me."
