Chapter 2 - THE MEN AT THE DOORAdrian stepped into the weak yellow light of the hallway.
The two men stopped.
For half a second, neither of them seemed to understand what they were looking at.
Then the taller one tightened his grip around the baseball bat.
“Move,” he said.
Adrian didn’t.
Behind him, through the cracked apartment door, Emma was still sitting at the tiny kitchen table.
She had not heard them yet.
That fact was the only reason both men were still standing.
Adrian buttoned his black wool coat with calm, deliberate movements.
“You came to collect from Sofia Romano?”
The shorter man frowned.
“And who the hell are you?”
Adrian lifted his eyes.
Recognition arrived slowly.
Then all at once.
The man’s face lost its color.
Chicago knew Adrian Moretti by reputation long before most people ever saw his face. Prosecutors called him a businessman with impossible luck. Detectives called him untouchable. Men in back rooms called him Stone because nothing seemed to move him.
The taller man took one step back.
“Moretti.”
Adrian’s expression did not change.
“You’re standing outside a three-year-old girl’s apartment with baseball bats.”
The shorter man swallowed.
“This ain’t your business.”
Adrian looked toward Emma’s door.
“Everything behind that door is my business now.”
The taller man tried to recover some courage.
“Her mother owes money.”
“How much?”
“Twenty-eight grand.”
Adrian’s gaze sharpened.
“For what?”
Neither man answered.
Adrian took one slow step forward.
The hallway suddenly felt too narrow.
The shorter man spoke first.
“Her husband.”
That word landed strangely.
Sofia had told the estate staff that Emma’s father was dead.
Adrian remembered the faded photograph Emma watered beside in Elena’s garden.
A smiling young man in mechanic’s clothes.
“What about her husband?”
“He borrowed.”
“From whom?”
The taller man glanced toward the stairs.
Adrian noticed.
Fear.
Not fear of him.
Fear of someone else.
Interesting.
“Answer me.”
“Rossi.”
Adrian went still.
Vittorio Rossi.
The name belonged to a problem Adrian had believed buried years ago.
Rossi had once controlled several gambling rooms and illegal lending operations on Chicago’s southwest side. He had disappeared after trying to push into Moretti territory.
Adrian’s organization had not killed him.
Adrian had made a point of that.
Vittorio had simply vanished.
Until now.
“How long has Rossi been collecting from Sofia?”
The man with the bat stared at Adrian.
“You don’t know?”
The question bothered Adrian more than any answer could have.
The apartment door creaked.
Emma appeared in the gap.
She wore pink socks that didn’t match and an oversized sweater with a missing button.
Her rag doll hung from one hand.
She stared at the two men.
Then at Adrian.
Her brown eyes widened.
“Mr. Stone?”
The shorter collector looked at the child.
That was his mistake.
Adrian moved.
He caught the man’s wrist before the baseball bat could rise, twisted sharply, and drove him into the wall.
The bat crashed onto the floor.
The taller man swung.
Adrian ducked, seized the bat mid-arc, and slammed his shoulder into the man’s chest.
The collector hit the concrete hard.
Adrian planted a polished shoe over the weapon.
The entire confrontation lasted fewer than five seconds.
Emma blinked.
Adrian immediately straightened.
He did not want her seeing more.
“Go inside, little bird.”
Emma hugged Daisy against her chest.
“They came because Mommy is late?”
Adrian’s anger changed shape.
It became colder.
More precise.
He crouched until he was closer to Emma’s height.
“Your mommy isn’t in trouble.”
Emma’s lip trembled.
“She said grown-up bills get angry.”
Something inside Adrian cracked.
“No bill gets to be angry at you.”
She looked uncertain.
“Promise?”
Adrian had spent most of his adult life avoiding promises.
Promises created weaknesses.
Weaknesses became graves.
But he looked into Emma’s solemn little face and said, “Promise.”
Emma nodded.
Then she surprised him by touching his cheek.
“You have snow on your eyelashes.”
He almost laughed.
Almost.
“Inside.”
This time she obeyed.
When the door closed, Adrian’s face changed.
He looked at the men on the floor.
“Call whoever sent you.”
The taller man shook his head.
“You don’t understand.”
“I understand perfectly.”
“He’ll kill us.”
Adrian leaned closer.
“You should be much more concerned about disappointing me.”
Five minutes later, the taller man gave him an address.
A social club near Archer Avenue.
No signs.
No public listing.
Vittorio Rossi’s newest den.
Adrian memorized it.
Then he pulled several bills from his wallet and tossed them beside the collectors.
“For the cab.”
The shorter man stared.
“You’re letting us go?”
“Yes.”
Suspicion filled his face.
“Why?”
“Because I want Rossi to know I’m coming.”
Adrian opened Emma’s door.
Inside, the apartment was worse than he had realized.
The heat was off.
The refrigerator contained a jar of mustard, two bruised apples, milk, and nothing else.
A stack of overdue notices sat beneath a chipped ceramic bowl.
Emma had returned to the table.
She was trying to scrape the green mold from her piece of bread with a butter knife.
Adrian crossed the room and took it from her.
“Hey.”
She frowned.
“I took the bad part off.”
“You’re not eating that.”
“But it’s mine.”
“No.”
“Mommy needs the good bread.”
Adrian tossed the entire loaf into the trash.
Emma’s mouth fell open.
For the first time since he had met her, she looked genuinely horrified.
“That was food!”
Adrian froze.
He had thrown away bottles of wine worth more than Sofia’s monthly salary.
Yet the sight of Emma staring at that trash can made him feel ashamed.
He reached for his phone.
“Marco.”
His chief of security answered immediately.
“Boss?”
“Bring groceries.”
A pause.
“To where?”
Adrian gave the address.
“And send a driver to find Sofia.”
“Is something wrong?”
“Just do it.”
Emma watched him.
“You can’t find Mommy.”
Adrian lowered the phone.
“What does that mean?”
“She works late on Tuesdays.”
“At the estate?”
Emma shook her head.
“Other job.”
Adrian stared at her.
Sofia worked for him six days a week.
“What other job?”
Emma whispered as if revealing something forbidden.
“She cleans the club.”
“What club?”
“The one with the red door.”
Adrian’s blood ran cold.
“Does Mommy tell you its name?”
Emma shook her head.
“She says never go there.”
A terrible suspicion formed.
“Does Mr. Rossi have a red door?”
Emma’s little face changed.
Not recognition.
Fear.
She climbed down from the chair and disappeared into the bedroom.
Adrian followed.
She dropped to her knees beside a thin mattress on the floor and pulled out a shoebox.
Inside were crayons, a dead flashlight, two quarters, and a torn business card.
She handed Adrian the card.
Printed across the front in faded gold letters were two words.
ROSSI SOCIAL.
Adrian looked at her.
“Where did you get this?”
“Mommy dropped it.”
“When?”
“After the bad man pushed her.”
Silence.
Adrian’s fingers closed around the card.
“How often does he hurt her?”
Emma lowered her eyes.
“Mommy says falling makes bruises.”
Adrian knew that lie.
He had heard versions of it from frightened employees, beaten witnesses, and women protecting men who did not deserve protecting.
“Emma.”
She looked up.
“You never have to lie to protect your mommy from me.”
Her eyes filled.
“He said if Mommy stops working, he’ll put us where Daddy is.”
Adrian’s stomach turned.
“Where Daddy is?”
“Heaven.”
The room seemed to disappear.
Adrian slowly stood.
He called Marco again.
“Change of plan.”
“What happened?”
“Find Sofia Romano right now.”
“We’re already checking the estate—”
“She’s at Rossi’s club.”
A long silence.
Marco knew the name.
Everyone important did.
“Boss, Vittorio Rossi is dead.”
“No.”
Adrian looked at Emma.
“He’s been hiding.”
Marco swore softly.
“I’ll get a team.”
“No sirens. No uniforms. Nobody touches Sofia until I get there.”
“And the kid?”
Adrian’s eyes moved over the freezing apartment.
A child-sized winter coat hung from a nail beside the door.
The zipper was broken.
“She’s coming with me.”
Twenty minutes later, Emma sat in the back seat of Adrian’s Lincoln wrapped in his cashmere overcoat.
Marco arrived in a black SUV with groceries and two armed guards.
He stared at Emma.
Then at Adrian.
“Boss.”
“Take her to the estate.”
Emma clutched the coat.
“No.”
Adrian turned.
Her small face had gone pale.
“Mommy said not to go with strangers.”
Marco almost smiled.
Adrian didn’t.
“He works for me.”
Emma considered that.
Then she leaned toward Adrian.
“You come too?”
“I have to get your mother.”
Her little hand grabbed one of his fingers.
“Bring her home?”
The word home hit him strangely.
“Yes.”
“To your big house?”
Adrian hesitated.
Then said, “Yes.”
Emma released him.
She climbed into Marco’s SUV.
Just before the door closed, she called out, “Mr. Stone?”
“What?”
“Don’t make Mommy cry.”
Adrian stared at her.
“I won’t.”
The club was twelve minutes away.
A red steel door sat beneath a flickering exterior light.
Adrian walked in alone.
Inside, cigarette smoke hung beneath low ceilings.
Cards stopped moving.
Whiskey glasses froze halfway to mouths.
At the far end of the room sat Vittorio Rossi.
Older.
Heavier.
Still alive.
And beside him, wearing a maid’s uniform under a cheap winter coat, stood Sofia.
There was blood at the corner of her mouth.
One hand was tied to the chair behind her.
Adrian stopped breathing.
Sofia looked up.
Shock consumed her face.
“Mr. Moretti?”
Rossi smiled.
“Well.”
He lifted his glass.
“Stone finally found the girl.”
Adrian’s gaze shifted from Sofia to Rossi.
“The girl?”
Rossi chuckled.
“You really don’t know, do you?”
Sofia began shaking.
“Don’t.”
Rossi ignored her.
He leaned forward.
“That little maid of yours didn’t wander into your house by accident.”
Adrian’s eyes narrowed.
“What are you talking about?”
Rossi smiled wider.
“Sofia Romano came to the Moretti estate because of what her dead husband discovered before somebody put a bullet through his heart.”
Adrian looked at Sofia.
Her face crumpled.
Rossi finished quietly.
“And if you want to know who ordered the hit that killed Emma’s father, Stone…”
May you like
He raised his glass toward Adrian.
“You should start by looking inside your own family.”
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