Chapter 5 - The Geography of Belonging
By the third week of November, the fifth-floor private suite of St. Jude’s had become the operational center of Matteo Reichi’s life.
The suite was vast, designed for foreign dignitaries or corporate executives who required medical isolation combined with five-star luxury. It had a main bedroom where Emma slept beneath a lavender quilt Vincent had sourced from a shop in Back Bay, a small kitchenette filled with organic juices and chocolate chip cookies from the bakery down the street, and a sitting room where Matteo had installed a secondary workstation encrypted to the North End office.
Vincent entered the suite at two o'clock on a Tuesday afternoon, carrying a leather briefcase filled with the monthly logistics reports for the shipping terminals. He stopped at the entrance, his face softening slightly as he saw the scene before him.
Matteo sat on the velvet sofa, his jacket removed, his white shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He was holding a small green plastic castle, while Emma sat on the rug at his feet, carefully arranging a set of miniature plastic knights she had found in a toy box Vincent had delivered the day before.
"The Red Knight is the leader, Matt," Emma explained, her voice carrying a bright, musical tone that had been entirely missing during her first week in the hospital. "He has to protect the tower because the dragons are coming from the river."
"The Red Knight needs a defensive line," Matteo said, his face perfectly serious as he placed the plastic castle near her knees. "If the dragons come from the river, he should position his archers on the northern wall. That way he controls the high ground."
Vincent cleared his throat softly.
Matteo looked up, his winter-river eyes instantly returning to the sharp, professional focus of the Don. He stood up, smoothing his trousers, and walked over to the kitchenette counter where Vincent was setting down the briefcase.
"Sarah?" Matteo asked, his voice low so Emma wouldn't hear.
"Kincaid reduced the sedation level this morning," Vincent said, pulling a medical log from the case. "She’s breathing on her own now. The monitors show normal cortical activity. Kincaid thinks she will wake up within the next twenty-four hours. He wants Emma in the room when it happens. He says the vocal recognition could help accelerate the cognitive re-entry."
Matteo looked over his shoulder at Emma, who was currently making a loud roaring sound as a plastic dragon attacked the northern wall of the green castle.
"We have another problem, Matteo," Vincent added, his voice dropping to a whisper. "The legal team managed to secure the temporary guardianship papers, but the state is performing a background asset check on Sarah Peterson’s estate. It turns out Derek Walsh wasn't just a collector for Jimmy Vane. He was using Sarah's name to lease a warehouse space in South Boston that was flagged by the DEA last winter. If the feds connect her name to that lease, the asset forfeiture division will seize her house on Sterling Street by next month. She’ll have nothing to come home to."
Matteo’s jaw set into that familiar, dangerous angle. "The warehouse belongs to the Reichi family trust now. Tell the legal team to file a corrective title deed stating that Sarah Peterson’s name was forged on the lease by Derek Walsh. Have the notary who witnessed the original document sign an affidavit admitting the fraud."
"The notary might be difficult, Matteo. He’s a South End guy. He’s loyal to Jimmy Vane’s old crew."
"Then tell him he can choose between signing the affidavit or spending the winter in the Quincy quarry with Derek," Matteo said simply. "He has until five o'clock to make his decision."
Vincent nodded, writing a quick note on his pad. "Understood, Boss. And the house on Sterling Street?"
"Send a construction crew from the waterfront," Matteo ordered. "The porch light is broken. The hedges are overgrown. The living room linoleum needs to be replaced with oak flooring from the North End supply. I want that house looking like a place where a child can eat cookies by the time Sarah Peterson walks out of this hospital."
"Matt!" Emma called out from the rug, her small hand waving a plastic knight in the air. "The Red Knight needs the big horse! Where did you put it?"
Matteo turned away from the underboss, his white sleeves catching the light from the big window as he walked back to the rug. He lowered himself to one knee, his large hand reaching into his pocket and pulling out the silver-painted plastic stallion he had hidden there during their lunch break.
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"The Red Knight always has his horse, Emma," Matteo said, his voice dropping into that quiet, protective registry that had become the harmony of her days. "He never leaves his people behind."
Vincent watched them for a long moment before closing his briefcase and exiting the suite, realizing for the first time in twenty years that the ghost of Michael Rodriguez hadn't been buried in the cemetery on Fourth Street after all. He was sitting on a rug in St. Jude’s, learning how to build a castle that no dragon could ever tear down.
