Chapter 3 - SHADOWS OVER MULBERRY STREET
By midnight, the grand party at the estate was over, but the story had already metastasized. In the age of smartphones, even private mafia galas were not entirely dark. A short, thirty-second video clip of barefoot little Emma out-dancing the icy socialite had been leaked to an anonymous gossip blog. By morning, it was trending locally.
Sophia sat at the tiny formica table in her top-floor apartment above the Mulberry Street laundromat. The room smelled of lavender soap and old steam pipes. On the table lay the official bank document—a certified cashier's check for $1,000,000, bearing the seal of the Moretti Financial Trust.
To Sophia, it didn't look like wealth. It looked like a target painted directly on her chest.
Emma was fast asleep in the adjacent alcove, clutching her rabbit. Sophia stared out the window into the rain-slicked alley below. Her life had been defined by hiding. Five years ago, she had arrived in New York with a false name, a bruised body, and a secret she hoped would die with her. She had taken the lowest-paying, most invisible job she could find—catering for the inner circle of the Moretti crime syndicate—because ironically, nobody looks for a missing girl inside the dragon's lair.
A soft knock at her door made her jump.
She froze. It was 2:30 AM. Nobody came to Mulberry Street at this hour unless they were looking for trouble.
Sophia reached into the drawer and wrapped her fingers around a small kitchen knife. She crept toward the heavy oak door and looked through the peephole.
Standing in the dim hallway, drenched in rain, was not a mugger or a hitman. It was Aleandro Moretti himself, flanked by two towering men in dark trench coats.
Sophia unlocked the triple deadbolts and opened the door a crack, keeping the chain attached. "Mr. Moretti? What are you doing here? It’s late."
"Open the door, Sophia," Aleandro said calmly. His dark hair was wet, sticking to his forehead, and his tailored suit jacket was damp. "We have a problem."
"What problem?"
"Valentina’s brother, Gianni Romano," Aleandro replied, his eyes dark and urgent. "He didn't take the humiliation of his sister lightly. He knows who you are, Sophia. Or rather... he looked into your past tonight trying to find dirt to invalidate the check."
Sophia’s breath hitched in her throat. The color drained from her cheeks. "What... what did he find?"
"He found out that 'Sophia Miller' doesn't exist before four years ago," Aleandro said, his voice lowering. "And he just contacted a very dangerous man in Chicago named Julian Vance. Does that name mean anything to you?"
Sophia felt the world tilt beneath her feet. The floor seemed to drop away. Julian Vance. The man she had fled from. The powerful, corrupt judge’s son who had claimed ownership over her life, the man who had vowed to destroy her if she ever ran away.
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"He knows," Sophia whispered, her voice barely an audible breath. "He knows where I am."
"Not yet," Aleandro said, reaching through the crack in the door to place a firm, warm hand over her trembling ones. "Gianni gave him a tip, but Vance hasn't confirmed it. But Mulberry Street is no longer safe for you or Emma. Pack a bag, Sophia. Right now. You’re coming with me."
