Chapter 3 - Eyes Like Mine
Morning broke over Lake Michigan in shades of cold slate and pale gray. I had not slept a single second.
I sat in the spacious kitchen of the safehouse, staring at four small bowls of cereal laid out on the island counter.
Footsteps patted soft rhythm across the hardwood floor. I looked up. The four boys stood in the doorway, dressed in matching grey sweatpants and navy sweaters provided by my supply staff. They looked like a line of Russian nesting dolls, each one a smaller, purer mirror of myself.
"Good morning," I said, suppressing the natural gravel in my voice to avoid startling them.
Mateo—the oldest by three minutes, according to Elena—stepped forward first. He had a stubborn set to his chin that was terrifyingly familiar.
"Are you our father?" he asked directly.
No hesitation. No fear. Just a straight question from a four-year-old child.
"Yes, Mateo," I replied, kneeling on one knee so I was at eye level with them. "I am your father."
"Elena said you were a king," Nico, the smallest one, piped up from behind Mateo's shoulder.
A faint, rare smile tugged at the corner of my lips. "Elena exaggerates. I am just a man who takes care of his family."
"Is mother in heaven?" Leo asked softly.
"She is," I answered, my voice softening. "She watched over you until you found your way back to me. And now, nobody will ever touch you again."
Gio, who had been silent, walked right up to me, reached out his tiny hand, and touched the faint scar running along my jawline.
"Does it hurt?" he asked.
"Not anymore," I said, placing my large hand gently over his tiny fingers. "It reminds me to be careful."
For the next two hours, the king of Chicago's underworld sat on a carpet floor, learning the names and personalities of his four sons.
Mateo was the leader—observant, cautious, and protective of his brothers. Leo was the thinker—quiet, fascinated by how things worked, already studying the security cameras mounted on the walls. Nico was the artist—full of energy, smiling easily, carrying his mother's light. And Gio was the shadow—silent, watchful, sticking close to my side as if he had already decided I was his shield.
Watching them, the dark, icy crust that had frozen around my heart for five years began to shatter. I had built an empire out of fear, power, and violence. But looking at these four boys, I realized that none of that mattered unless I could give them a future where they didn't have to live in fear.
"Boss," Dominic’s voice broke the moment as he entered the kitchen, stepping carefully around a pile of plastic building blocks on the floor. "We have a situation."
I stood up, adjusting my jacket. "Report."
"Our scouts near the old estate reported that Valenti’s men didn't just attack—they left a message painted on the front gates."
"What message?"
"A deadline," Dominic said, hesitating. "Valenti knows the boys were in the house. He doesn't know where they are, but he has put a ten-million-dollar bounty on the heads of 'the Moretti strays.' Every mercenary from Milwaukee to St. Louis is heading toward Chicago."
My eyes narrowed into slits of pure, calculated fury.
"He put a price on my children," I whispered.
"Yes, Boss."
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"Then we will show Marco Valenti what happens when you threaten the cubs of a wolf." I turned to Elena, who had entered the kitchen. "Keep them inside. The safehouse is on level-one lockdown."
I walked toward the armory. It was time to remind Chicago why my name was feared.
