Chapter 3 - The Echo of a Promise
The sound of that small, trembling voice hit me harder than a physical blow. The rage that had been boiling in my veins instantly receded, replaced by an acute, fragile tenderness that I hadn't felt since the day my sister died.
I looked up away from the choking monster beneath me, fixing my gaze on the dark, yawning threshold of the upstairs hallway.
“I’m here, Emma,” I called out, my voice softening instantly, shedding every ounce of the dangerous mob boss persona I wore like armor. “You’re safe now. It’s over.”
A profound, suffocating silence followed my words, broken only by the ragged, wheezing breaths of the piece of garbage pinned beneath my knees. Then, a floorboard creaked softly somewhere in the shadows above.
A small, sliver of light cut through the darkness as a bedroom door slowly creaked open an inch.
A pair of wide, terrified brown eyes peeked out from the gap. They were wild with fear, swimming with unshed tears, framed by a halo of dark, untameable curls.
Isabella.
For a terrifying split second, the line between past and present completely dissolved. I wasn't standing in a bloody house in Dorchester in the year 2026; I was back in that cramped apartment building, watching my little sister slip away. The phantom pain in my chest flared with blinding intensity.
“Emma,” I said gently, raising my empty hands slowly to show her I was unarmed, keeping my palms completely open. “You don’t have to be scared anymore. Look at me. I’m Matt. We texted, remember?”
The little girl slowly pushed the door open the rest of the way. She was wearing oversized unicorn pajamas that were far too big for her thin frame, her bare feet clutching the cold wooden floor. She looked down at the unconscious, bleeding woman sprawled near the stairs, and a fresh sob broke from her chest, her small shoulders shaking violently.
“Mama...” she whispered, her voice cracking in a way that made my soul ache.
“Your mama is alive, sweetheart,” I said, keeping my voice steady, anchoring her with my gaze. “She’s hurt, but she’s breathing. I’m going to make sure she gets fixed up. But right now, I need you to stay right where you are for just one second, okay?”
Emma nodded slowly, her small hands clutching the hem of her oversized shirt like a lifeline.
I turned my attention back to the piece of human garbage beneath me. He was conscious again, staring up at me with sheer, unadulterated terror, realizing exactly who had walked into his house. Word of Matteo Reichi’s wrath had traveled far through the Boston underground; even a drunken low-life recognized the look of a man who looked death in the face every single day.
“P-Please,” the man whimpered, spitting blood onto the floorboards. “Don’t kill me... man, please...”
I leaned down close to his ear, my voice dropping to a low, venomous hiss that only he could hear.
“Listen to me very carefully,” I whispered, my fingers tightening one last time around his throat before releasing him abruptly, letting him gasp for air like a fish out of water. “If you ever come within five miles of this house, if you ever look at Sarah or Emma again, or if you even breathe a word of who was here tonight... I won’t just kill you. I will dismantle everything you’ve ever loved, piece by piece, until you are begging the grave to take you. Do we understand each other?”
“Y-Yes! Yes, I swear to God—” he choked out, pressing himself flat against the floor, too terrified to even attempt crawling away.
I ignored him, standing up smoothly and brushing a speck of dust from the knee of my trousers. I walked over to the stairs, taking them two at a time until I reached the landing where Emma stood frozen in the doorway.
When I stopped in front of her, she looked up at me, her lower lip trembling. Without a second thought, I dropped down onto one knee so we were eye-to-eye.
“Can I pick you up, Emma?” I asked softly, holding out my hands, palms up. “We need to go downstairs and take care of your mama.”
She didn't hesitate. She threw herself forward, wrapping her small, frail arms tightly around my neck and burying her face into my shoulder. She sobbed quietly, her tears soaking instantly through the expensive fabric of my suit jacket.
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I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her small body tight against my chest, shielding her completely from the carnage behind us. A strange, heavy warmth bloomed in my chest—a feeling of purpose that I hadn't felt in over twenty years.
“I’ve got you, kiddo,” I whispered against her wild curls, my voice thick with emotion. “I promised I’d help. And I always keep my promises.”
