Chapter 5 - The Little Protector
In the small, sunlit kitchen of the Ridgewood safe house, three-year-old Emma Rossi sat cross-legged on the linoleum floor, completely absorbed in the solemn task of feeding a bowl of milk and crushed saltine crackers to Biscuit.
The calico cat purred contentedly, its tail flicking back and forth against Emma’s pink sock.
Sophia sat at the worn wooden table, staring out the window at the quiet, grey Queens street. Her fingers were wrapped tightly around a mug of lukewarm tea, though she hadn't taken a single sip in twenty minutes. The gold cufflink she had found in the cellar sat heavily in her pocket, a cold reminder of the danger that still surrounded them.
The heavy wooden door leading from the hallway creaked open.
Sophia jumped to her feet, her hand instinctively dropping into her pocket.
It was Lorenzo.
He had dressed in a simple black long-sleeve shirt and dark trousers. Though his left arm was held close to his body in a discreet elastic sling beneath his shirt, his posture was straight, his dark eyes burning with the cold, immovable resolve of a man walking back from the dead.
Emma looked up from her cat, her bright eyes widening with absolute delight.
“Mr. Lorenzo!” she cried, scrambling to her feet and abandoning her cereal bowl.
Before Sophia could stop her, the toddler ran across the kitchen and threw both arms around Lorenzo’s right knee, pressing her cheek against his trousers just as she had in the dark cellar three days before.
Lorenzo stopped dead in his tracks.
For a fraction of a second, the most feared syndicate leader in the Northeast looked completely disarmed. His dark eyes softened. Slowly, deliberately, he knelt down on one knee, wincing only slightly as his injured shoulder protested the movement.
He placed his large, calloused hand gently on top of Emma’s brown curls.
“Hello, little one,” Lorenzo said, his voice unusually gentle, stripped of all the ice and authority he used for the rest of the world. “I hear you saved my life.”
“My scissors broke,” Emma reported solemnly, holding up the remaining half of the pink plastic tool for his inspection. “You were stuck. The chair was mean.”
Lorenzo took the broken plastic piece from her tiny hand, his thumb tracing the dull edge. “The chair was very mean,” he agreed gravely. “And you were very brave.”
“Can I have a pony now?” she asked instantly, her serious expression melting into an impish grin.
Sophia let out a nervous, breathless laugh, hurrying over to pull her daughter back. “Emma, stop bothering Mr. Lorenzo. He’s recovering from a very bad injury.”
“She’s not bothering me, Sophia,” Lorenzo said, standing up slowly and looking directly at the young mother. His stormy grey eyes met hers, holding a depth of gratitude and understanding that words could never capture. “In fact, she’s the only reason I’m standing here right now.”
Sophia swallowed hard, looking away from his intense gaze. “The house in Long Island... Vincent is taking over. Sarah told me before I left that he’s calling a meeting of the regional captains tonight in Greenpoint.”
May you like
Lorenzo’s expression hardened instantly, the warmth vanishing from his face like breath off a winter window. The mafia boss returned, cold and lethal.
“I know,” Lorenzo said quietly. “And tonight, we are going to RSVP.”
