Chapter 2: The Truth in the Dark
The silence in the warehouse room was suffocating, broken only by the steady, clinical drip of the IV fluid and the distant howl of the Chicago wind outside.
Mara did not move. She remained huddled over the little girl like a lioness protecting a cub, her round face pale, her hands gripping the edges of the wool blanket. Her breathing was ragged, her chest heaving against her uniform collar.
“Don’t touch her,” Mara whispered, her voice trembling but carrying a terrifying intensity. “Please, Mr. DeLuca. Kill me if you want to. Shoot me for stealing. But don’t let them know she’s alive. Don’t let your family near her.”
Roman didn't seem to hear her threat. He fell to his knees beside the mattress, his expensive wool trousers soaking up the dampness of the concrete floor. He dropped his cane entirely. His hands, hands that had broken bones and signed death warrants, were shaking as he reached out toward the little girl.
“Clara,” he breathed again.
The little girl didn't shrink away from him. She looked at his face, her violet-gray eyes studying the deep scar that ran from his left temple down to his jawline—a souvenir from the same war that had claimed her father. She reached out a small, hot hand from beneath the blanket and touched the rough stubble on his cheek.
“You have Daddy’s eyes,” she whispered, her voice barely louder than the drip of the IV. “Daddy had a picture of you in his wallet. He told me you were the king of the castle.”
A choked, ragged sob tore itself from Roman’s throat—a sound he had never allowed himself to make in his entire life. He pressed his forehead against the edge of the mattress, his shoulders shaking as three years of ice and iron around his heart shattered into a million sharp pieces.
“It’s you,” he wept, his voice muffled by the wool blanket. “My god, Leo... she’s alive.”
Mara watched him, her defensive posture slowly softening as she saw the absolute, unscripted devastation of his grief. She lowered her arms, her head dropping as she let out a long, shuddering breath.
“How?” Roman asked after a long time, wiping his face with the back of his hand, his eyes never leaving the child’s face. He turned to Mara, his expression a mixture of profound gratitude and dangerous confusion. “How is she here? I went to the morgue myself, Mara. I saw the wreckage. I paid the funeral director a million dollars to ensure my brother’s family was buried with dignity.”
“The funeral director was a liar, Mr. DeLuca,” Mara said quietly, her voice steadying as she realized Roman wasn't here to kill them. “Or rather, he was terrified. Three years ago, I wasn't a housekeeper. I was a pediatric nurse at St. Jude’s Memorial. The night of the bombing, a man brought this baby into the emergency room under a fake name. He had found her thrown into a bushes fifty yards away from the car before the fire took it. She had a fractured skull and internal bleeding, but she was breathing.”
Roman’s jaw set. “Who brought her in?”
“A man with a tattoo of a black serpent on his wrist,” Mara said.
Roman’s breath caught. Gianni Marcone. The underboss of the rival family.
“He didn't bring her to save her,” Mara continued, her eyes dark with the memory. “He brought her to confirm she was a DeLuca. He told the attending physician that if the baby survived the night, he would come back and finish the job. He said the DeLuca bloodline had to be wiped clean from Chicago. I was the night nurse on duty. I saw him leave. I saw the look on the doctor’s face—he was going to call them back. He was on their payroll.”
Roman’s fist clenched until his knuckles turned gray. “So you took her.”
“I took her,” Mara nodded, a fierce spark of pride in her eyes. “I unhooked her monitors, stuffed her into my laundry basket, and walked out the back door into the snow. I knew your family’s reputation, Mr. DeLuca. I knew the DeLucas were just as dangerous as the Marcones. I thought if I gave her to you, the war would just get bigger, and she would end up caught in the crossfire again. So I hid her. I quit my job, I changed my name, and I’ve been moving her from tenement to tenement for three years.”
“Why did you come to work at my house?” Roman asked, his voice sharp but no longer angry.
“Because six months ago, Clara started getting sick,” Mara explained, gesturing to the bandage on the girl’s leg. “She developed an aggressive bone infection in her femur. She needs specialized care, expensive antibiotics, and sterile equipment. I had spent every dollar of my savings. I couldn't go to a public hospital without her fake birth certificate being flagged. I realized the only place in Chicago with enough security to hide a medical supply theft, and enough money to buy black-market drugs, was the DeLuca mansion. I took the job to save her life, Roman. I’m sorry I stole from you.”
Roman looked at this woman—this curvy, ordinary-looking woman whom his other maids mocked for sweating through her collar. She had abandoned her career, her safety, and her entire life to raise a mafia princess in a freezing warehouse, protecting her from the two most dangerous syndicates in the Midwest.
He stood up, his physical dominance returning, but his eyes were entirely transformed.
“You will never apologize to me again, Mara,” Roman said, his voice ringing with absolute authority. He reached down and picked up his gun, sliding it back into his waistband, before picking up his cane. “Pack her things. We’re leaving.”
Mara panicked, standing up to block him again. “Where? If you take her back to Astor Street, your captains will see her! Dominic will see her! The Marcones have spies everywhere, Roman! If they know she’s alive, the hitmen will come back!”
May you like
Roman leaned forward, his face inches from hers, the scent of rain and tobacco surrounding her.
“My fortress on Astor Street is no longer safe enough for my niece,” Roman said, his voice dark and resolute. “We are not going to the mansion. We are going to the lake house in Wisconsin. No one knows the location except me. Not even Dominic. You and Clara are coming with me tonight, Mara. And from this second forward, your only job is to let me protect you.”
