Chapter 4 - A Morning in the Fortress
Morning light poured through the tall arched windows of the estate, painting golden patterns across the expensive Persian rugs. Ivy woke up with a wide yawn, rubbing her sleepy eyes as she sat up in a bed fifty times larger than her old cot in Brooklyn.
"Mommy?" she called out, looking around the unfamiliar room with wide, curious eyes. "Is this a castle?"
Grace walked in with a tray of fresh fruit and warm pastries, smiling softly to mask the knot of anxiety in her stomach. "Something like that, sweetheart. Do you like it?"
Before Ivy could answer, a soft knock sounded at the door. Marcus entered, wearing a simple black cashmere sweater instead of his usual tailored suit. He looked less like a feared mafia boss and more like an ordinary father, though his imposing height and quiet authority remained unmistakable.
Ivy froze, her eyes locking onto the tall stranger standing in her doorway. She tilted her head, studying him with the fierce, unfiltered curiosity unique to three-year-olds.
Marcus stopped dead in his tracks. He looked down at Ivy, and for the first time in decades, the ruthless syndicate leader completely forgot how to breathe. He slowly knelt down on one knee, bringing himself down to her eye level.
"Good morning," Marcus said, his voice softer than Grace had ever heard it.
Ivy stared at him for a long, agonizing moment. Then, she looked over at Grace, back to Marcus, and pointed a tiny finger straight at his chest.
"You're the man from my drawing," Ivy announced matter-of-factly. "The tall man with no face. But now you have a face."
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Marcus let out a sudden, breathless laugh—a sound so foreign to him that it startled even himself. A genuine, warm smile broke across his face, melting away the cold exterior that terrified New York City.
"I am," Marcus whispered, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "I'm so glad I finally found you, Ivy."
