Chapter 2 - Shadows in the Master Wing
Night fell over the Boston estate like a heavy velvet shroud. The fog rolled in from the harbor, pressing thick and gray against the towering iron gates and the tall, Gothic-style windows of the mansion. Inside, the silence was absolute, broken only by the rhythmic tick of an antique grandfather clock in the main foyer.
In the small, cozy guest quarters assigned to them in the east wing, Lily had finally fallen asleep, her tiny face relaxed against the pillow, her breathing soft and even.
Isabella, however, was wide awake.
Sitting at a small mahogany desk by the window, she stared out into the courtyard. The events of the afternoon replayed in her mind like a haunting film loop. The soap-slicked kitchen, Leo’s terrified transformation from a laughing child into a ghost of a boy, Lily’s fearless defense, and, above all, the sound of Dominic Moretti crying behind his study door.
Why was a ruthless mafia boss weeping? What ghost haunted the man who terrorized half of New England?
Driven by an irresistible mix of anxiety, maternal instinct, and sheer curiosity, Isabella quietly stood up. She smoothed down her plain black trousers and dark sweater, slipping her feet into soft-soled flats. She needed to check the downstairs utility closet for extra linens—or at least, that was the excuse she gave herself as she cracked open her bedroom door.
The hallway was pitch black, illuminated only by the faint, eerie glow of moonlight filtering through the tall arched windows. The estate was vast, a labyrinth of heritage wood, velvet drapes, and hidden corridors. As she crept toward the grand staircase, she noticed a thin sliver of warm light spilling out from underneath the door of Dominic’s upstairs private study—a room housekeepers were strictly forbidden to enter without a direct summons.
She froze at the top of the stairs, her heart hammering against her ribs.
A low murmur drifted down the hallway. Dominic was talking to someone.
"I don't care what it takes," Dominic’s voice rasped, cold and hard as steel, yet trembling with an underlying fracture. "Find out who leaked the shipping manifests to the FBI, and make sure they understand the cost of betrayal. But... leave the family out of it. Completely."
A pause followed. Someone on the other end of the line—likely his ruthless second-in-command, a scarred enforcer named Victor—must have responded.
"No," Dominic snapped. "I handle the boy's therapists myself. And cancel tomorrow's appointment with the board. I'm staying home."
The line clicked dead.
Isabella held her breath, pressing her back against the cool wood of the hallway wall. She should turn around. She should run back to her room, lock the door, and pretend she never heard a thing. Working for the mob meant walking a razor-thin line between survival and a shallow grave in the Boston harbor.
Suddenly, a soft creak echoed behind her.
Isabella spun around, her breath catching in her throat.
Standing a few feet away, barefoot and wearing oversized silk pajamas, was Leo. His dark, curls were messy from sleep, and his large, luminous eyes stared up at her through the gloom. He looked so fragile in the dark hallway that he seemed like he might dissolve into mist.
"Leo?" Isabella whispered urgently, dropping to her knees to match his eye level. "What are you doing out of bed? You should be sleeping."
"I heard noises," the boy whispered back, his voice trembling. "Sometimes... sometimes the shadows in my room get too loud. They sound like the night the bad men came."
Isabella’s heart broke into a million pieces. Without thinking, she reached out and pulled the little boy into a warm, protective embrace. Leo stiffened for a fraction of a second—as if he wasn't used to gentle, uncalculated affection—before slowly wrapping his small arms around her waist, burying his face in her shoulder.
"You're safe here, Leo," Isabella murmured, stroking his soft hair. "I'm right here. Nobody is going to hurt you."
"Is my daddy angry at us?" Leo asked muffled against her sweater. "He always gets angry when things break. Because... because mommy broke, and he couldn't fix her."
The words hung in the cold corridor like a physical blow. Mommy broke.
May you like
Before Isabella could process the devastating implication of the child's words, the study door behind them clicked open.
A towering silhouette filled the doorway. Dominic Moretti stood there, his dark eyes locking onto Isabella and his son wrapped in an embrace in the middle of the hallway. The temperature in the corridor seemed to drop ten degrees.
