Chapter 4 - The Shadow at the Door
By the end of the second month, the illusion that I was merely an employee living in a safehouse had completely shattered.
I wasn't an employee. I was the center of gravity in a house that had previously been run like a military installation.
Mrs. Gable smiled more often, frequently leaving us alone in the massive professional kitchen while she baked shortbread cookies. The guards at the gates had stopped looking at me with cold suspicion and started nodding respectfully whenever I walked past with Leo strapped into his carrier.
And Luca... Luca was changing, too.
The hard, jagged edges of his public persona—the cold, calculating mafia boss who owned half of Philadelphia—seemed to dissolve the moment he walked through the front doors at night. He spent hours on the floor building block towers, taught Leo how to wave goodbye, and started lingering in the kitchen after dinner just to watch me argue with Mrs. Gable about whether pasta sauce needed sugar.
Then came Friday night.
Luca had been gone since dawn, attending a high-level summit with shipping executives down by the Delaware River. The house felt unusually still. Mrs. Gable had retired early with a migraine, leaving me alone in the expansive sunroom with Leo fast asleep in his stroller.
I was pouring a cup of chamomile tea when the security monitor on the kitchen wall chimed.
I glanced over casually.
A sleek black sedan had pulled up to the outer security gate. That wasn't unusual; associates and captains visited Luca’s home frequently.
What was unusual was the man stepping out of the passenger seat.
He was older than Luca—perhaps fifty, with slicked-back graying hair, wearing a pristine white linen suit that looked entirely out of place against the Philadelphia drizzle. He didn't wait for the guards to open the gate; he pressed his face directly against the security camera lens, smiling a wide, yellow-toothed smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Open up, boys," his voice crackled through the intercom speaker, smooth as liquid oil. "Tell Luca his favorite uncle is back in town."
Uncle Dominic.
Even though I had never met him, I recognized the name immediately. Dominic Moretti was the faction leader from the North Philadelphia docks—a volatile, old-school syndicate boss who believed Luca was too modern, too soft, and far too focused on legitimate business investments.
On the screen, one of the guards tried to block Dominic’s path.
Dominic didn't argue. He simply pulled a suppressed pistol from inside his linen jacket and pressed it against the guard's collarbone with terrifying, casual speed.
"Now," Dominic smiled at the camera. "Let's try that again. Open the damn gate before I make a mess on your driveway."
The monitor screen blinked, and the iron gates slowly swung open.
My blood turned to ice water.
I backed away from the kitchen counter, my heart hammering in my throat. I looked at Leo, who was still fast asleep in his stroller, completely oblivious to the danger rolling down the driveway.
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If Dominic Moretti was here, and Luca wasn't...
I didn't wait to find out. I grabbed Leo’s diaper bag, hoisted the baby out of the stroller into my arms, and bolted for the back stairs just as the heavy front mahogany door clicked open downstairs.
