Chapter 2 - The Silent Secret
The air in the kitchen instantly turned ice cold. I stared at Sloan, watching the tremors in her hands as she pulled Willa closer to her chest. Outside, the morning light hit the penthouse floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long, sharp shadows across the polished white marble. My instincts—the ones that had kept me alive in the boardroom and the brutal streets of the Five Boroughs—instantly flared to life.
“Sloan, talk to me,” I commanded, my voice dropping into that quiet, dangerous register I used when blood was about to be spilled. “What is it? Is she sick? Is someone threatening you?”
Sloan shook her head, tears welling up in her red-rimmed eyes. She looked so small inside my oversized cashmere sweater, her collarbone sharp, her skin paper-thin. She was running on sheer adrenaline and love, completely depleted of everything else.
“She’s not sick,” Sloan choked out, her voice barely audible over Willa’s soft, squeaky cries. “At least... not in the way you think. But two weeks ago... when I was still trying to figure out how to survive without you noticing me... someone came to the apartment.”
My entire body went rigid. Every muscle locked into place. “Who?”
“I didn't recognize them at first,” she whispered, stepping back as if trying to shield our daughter from a ghost. “A man in a custom suit. He had a scarred eyebrow and spoke with a thick Sicilian accent. He didn't break in, Vincent. He had a key to the private elevator. He walked right through the door while I was nursing her on the couch.”
Matteo. It could only be Matteo Bellini—my former lieutenant who had gone rogue three months ago after I dismantled his illegal arms distribution network in Queens. He was supposed to be hiding in South America, hunted by every loyal soldier in the Moretti family.
“What did he do?” I asked, stepping closer, my hands clenching into tight fists. My pulse thundered in my ears, a roaring demand for violence.
“He didn't touch us,” Sloan said, her chest heaving as tears finally spilled over her cheeks. “He just walked up to the crib, looked down at Willa, and smiled. A horrible, hollow smile. He dropped an envelope onto the table and said, 'Tell the Don that the debt of blood is never canceled, only passed down.' Then he left.”
“And you didn't call me?” I raged, the sound echoing through the spacious penthouse. “You were holding my newborn child, a known killer walked into our home, and you stayed silent?!”
“Call you?!” Sloan screamed back, her green eyes flashing with a sudden, fierce anger that reminded me of the woman I had married three years ago. “Call you so you could bring twenty armed mobsters into this apartment? So you could turn my baby’s life into a warzone before she can even hold her head up? You chose this life, Vincent! You chose the blood and the guns over me! I left to keep her safe from YOU and your world!”
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Her words slashed right through my defenses. She was right. The criminal empire I commanded with an iron fist had put a target on my innocent daughter’s back before she even drew her first breath.
“Where is the envelope?” I asked softly, forcing my voice to flatten into absolute calm.
