Chapter 6 - Threats from the Past
Two months passed in a blur of sunshine, laughter, and newfound peace.
Sarah and Emma moved into the Victorian house in Jamaica Plain. With the financial security provided by the trust, Sarah resigned from her grueling cleaning shifts and took over as the lead manager at a charming local bakery—a dream she had harbored for years.
Emma bloomed like a wildflower in the quiet neighborhood. She enrolled at St. Clara’s Private School, made dozens of friends, and took up piano lessons.
And Matteo was there for every step of it.
He was no longer just a benefactor; he had become an indispensable part of their daily lives. Every Sunday, Matteo would arrive at the house in casual clothes, help Sarah tend to the garden, and take Emma to the park.
The cold mafia boss who ruled Boston’s underworld had subtly shifted his priorities. He delegated day-to-day operations to Vincent, slowly legalizing his business holdings and cutting ties with the darker elements of the city's crime syndicates.
One warm July afternoon, Matteo was sitting on the front porch swing, watching Sarah water the hydrangeas in the front yard.
She wore a yellow sundress, her blonde hair catching the golden sunlight, her laugh echoing as Emma sprayed her with a garden hose.
Matteo watched her, feeling a deep, profound affection swelling in his chest. He was in love with her. He had been in love with her from the moment she looked at him with those fierce, protective mother’s eyes in the penthouse.
Suddenly, his phone buzzed in his pocket.
Matteo pulled it out, expecting a call from his shipping manager. But the screen displayed an encrypted number.
He answered, his voice dropping to its usual business tone. "Speak."
"Matteo..." a harsh, raspy voice hissed through the speaker. "Did you really think you could disarm the council and walk away into a happy little family life?"
Matteo’s body instantly went rigid. He recognized the voice: Don Carmine’s disgraced nephew, Marco Carmine—a volatile lieutenant who had fled the city after Matteo took down Don Dante.
"Marco," Matteo said coldly, standing up quietly from the swing, stepping off the porch so Sarah wouldn't hear. "You were warned never to return to Boston."
"I didn't return for Boston, Reichi," Marco sneered maliciously over the line. "I returned for what’s yours. I've been watching you for three weeks. The great Matteo Reichi... playing daddy to a little girl and sleeping with a baker's widow."
Matteo’s dark eyes narrowed into slits of pure, lethal fire. "If you touch them, Marco, there is nowhere on this earth you can hide."
"Oh, I'm not going to touch them yet," Marco laughed darkly. "I just wanted you to know that the game isn't over. Look at your driveway."
Matteo snapped his head toward his sedan parked in the driveway.
Sitting on the hood of his car was a single black rose, pinned to the metal with a small silver dagger—a traditional mafia mark of death.
Matteo hung up the phone instantly, his heart hammering against his ribs in wild panic.
"Vincent!" Matteo called into his earbud communicator. "Code Red! I need full tactical teams at Jamaica Plain right now! Marco Carmine is in the city!"
"Mama! Look!" Emma shouted from the lawn, pointing toward the end of the street.
A dark van pulled up at the corner. The side door slid open, and two men in black masks stepped out, holding silenced submachine guns.
Matteo didn't think. He acted with lightning speed.
He sprinted across the lawn, grabbed Sarah by the waist, and tackled her to the grass just as the muffled pop-pop-pop of automatic gunfire shattered the quiet afternoon air.
Bullets ripped through the hydrangeas, shattering the front windows of the house.
"Emma! Get down!" Sarah screamed frantically.
Emma dropped to the grass, sobbing in terror, covering her ears just like she had on the night she texted the wrong number.
Matteo pulled a custom black pistol from his concealed shoulder holster. He stood up in a half-crouch, placing himself directly between the attackers and the two women he loved more than life itself.
"Stay down!" Matteo roared to Sarah.
He aimed over the hood of his sedan, returning fire with terrifying precision. Two shots rang out. The lead gunman collapsed onto the pavement. The second gunman panicked, ducking behind the van as Matteo advanced, firing steadily, driving them back.
From down the street, two black SUVs tore around the corner—Vincent and six of Matteo’s elite bodyguards had arrived.
The SUVs rammed the side of the dark van, blocking its escape. Within thirty seconds, Matteo’s team swarmed the vehicle, disarming the attackers and pinning Marco Carmine to the pavement.
The neighborhood fell back into dead silence, except for the sound of wind rustling through the trees and Emma’s soft, terrified weeping.
Matteo lowered his weapon, his chest heaving with adrenaline. He turned around instantly, rushing back to Sarah and Emma.
"Are you hit?" Matteo shouted, kneeling beside them, his hands shaking as he checked Sarah’s arms and shoulders. "Sarah! Are you hurt?!"
"We're okay... we're okay," Sarah sobbed, pulling Emma into her lap, hugging her tightly.
Emma looked up at Matteo, her little face pale with shock. "Matt... they tried to hurt us again..."
Matteo looked down at the child he had sworn to protect, then at Sarah, who was trembling in his arms.
A terrible, crushing guilt flooded his heart. He had brought this violence to their doorstep. His past, his sins, his dangerous world had followed him here, putting this innocent family in the crosshairs of ruthless men.
"I'm sorry," Matteo whispered, his voice cracking with unbearable pain. "I'm so sorry... This is my fault."
He stood up slowly, looking away, unable to bear the sight of their fear.
"Vincent," Matteo commanded quietly, his tone hollow and broken. "Move them to the safehouse in New Hampshire. Put double security on them."
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"Matteo, wait!" Sarah called out, reaching for his hand.
But Matteo didn't stop. He turned and walked away toward his car, believing with every fiber of his being that the only way to keep them safe... was to leave them forever.
