Chapter 5 - The Gathering Storm
Within three days, Emma had completely transformed the cold, sterile atmosphere of the Reichi estate.
There were colored pencil drawings taped to the mahogany walls of Matteo’s private study. A stuffed bear named "Mr. Fluffles" sat on the leather sofa where millions of dollars in drug transactions had once been negotiated. Matteo found himself stepping over stray toys in the hallway, and instead of getting angry, he found himself smiling—a genuine, real smile that loosened the perpetual knot in his shoulders.
He spent his evenings sitting with Emma, helping her with reading or watching her draw. She would talk endlessly about her mother, about the cookies they used to bake before Derek moved in and ruined everything. Matteo listened with a hunger he didn't know he possessed. He was reclaiming the pieces of his youth, the pieces of Michael Rodriguez that he thought had died in that hospital room fifteen years ago.
But a man like Matteo Reichi cannot play father for long before his world comes knocking.
"Boss, we have a problem," Vincent said, slipping into the study on the fourth evening. Emma was in the kitchen with Mrs. Gable, making a mess with flour and cookie dough.
Matteo didn't look up from his desk. "What is it?"
"The Falcone family discovered we cleared out Derek Walsh's house. Turns out, Walsh wasn't just a random drunk. He was a low-level street distributor for Don Falcone's drug operation in East Boston. He owed Falcone thirty grand, but more importantly, Falcone thinks we’re moving into his territory because we took Walsh out."
Matteo’s pen stopped. His eyes darkened. "Walsh belonged to Falcone?"
"Yes. Falcone is calling an emergency meeting of the Commission tonight. He’s accusing you of breaking the truce. He’s demanding we hand over Walsh, and he’s caught wind that you’re harboring Walsh's domestic partners—the woman and the kid. He thinks you're using them as leverage for something."
Matteo let out a short, humorless laugh. It was a terrifying sound. "He thinks I care about low-level drug territory. He thinks I'm playing a game."
"He’s amassing men near the Brookline clinic, Boss. He thinks the woman knows where Walsh hid his stash. We have guards there, but if Falcone hits it with a full crew, it’s going to be a bloodbath."
Matteo stood up, fastening his jacket. The warmth that had inhabited his eyes over the last three days vanished, replaced by the glacial ice of the Don.
"Call the captains," Matteo commanded. "Tell them to mobilize every soldier we have from the North End to the South Shore. We aren't going to a Commission meeting. We're going to end the Falcone family."
Vincent hesitated. "Boss... a full-scale war? Over a wrong number?"
Matteo walked to the door, pausing to look back at a colorful drawing of a sun pinned to his bookshelf.
"It’s not over a wrong number, Vincent. It’s about a promise I made fifteen years ago to a little girl who didn't survive the night. This time, the little girl is going to win. Inform Falcone that if he so much as breathes the air near that clinic, I will burn his empire to the ground and salt the earth."
As Matteo walked down the hall, Emma ran out of the kitchen, her hands white with flour. "Matt! Look! I made a cookie shaped like a star for you!"
Matteo stopped, kneeling down to her level. He took the misshapen piece of dough from her hands, holding it like it was made of gold. "Thank you, Emma. It’s beautiful."
"Are you going to work?" she asked, looking at his dark face.
"Yes, sweetheart. I have some business to take care of. But I'll be back before you go to sleep. And tomorrow, I'm taking you to see your mama."
Emma smiled brightly, throwing her arms around his neck. "Be careful, Matt. I love you."
Matteo’s heart stopped. I love you. Words he hadn't heard since his mother and sister died. He hugged her tightly, his resolve hardening into steel.
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"I love you too, little one. Sleep well."
He stood up, turned his back on the light, and walked out into the storm.
