Chapter 3 - Eight Candles in the Dark
The kitchen was the warm, beating heart of the Costa estate. A long butcher-block table sat in the center, laden with bowls of hot soup, crusty golden bread, roasted vegetables, and thin slices of tender beef.
Sophia was sitting on a booster cushion, her cheeks flushed pink from the warmth of the room, happily eating pasta stars from a silver spoon. She had already eaten two sandwiches from the bakery, but Maria insisted that a growing girl needed "real marrow broth."
When Salvatore and Elena walked into the room, Sophia looked up, her eyes wide with wonder.
"Mommy! Look!" she cheered, pointing to the end of the table.
The vanilla cake with pink roses and rainbow sprinkles was sitting on a silver platter. Eight slender yellow candles were neatly pressed into the white buttercream frostings.
Maria came out of the pantry carrying a long fireplace match. "We are ready for the birthday song, yes?"
Elena walked over to her daughter, bowing her head as tears finally spilled over her lashes, tracing hot lines down her cold cheeks. She pulled Sophia close, pressing a deep, desperate kiss into the child’s soft hair. "Happy birthday, my sweet girl," she sobbed softly.
Salvatore stood by the door, his tall frame leaning against the wooden frame. He struck a match, the small flame illuminating his rugged, scarred face, and stepped forward to light the eight candles one by one.
The tiny flames flickered, reflecting in Sophia’s bright blue eyes.
"Make a wish, sweetheart," Salvatore said softly, his voice dropping into that quiet, gentle register he used only for her.
Sophia closed her eyes tight, her chest rising as she took a deep breath. She didn't wish for toys, or pretty dresses, or shoes without holes.
"I wish we never have to go back to the cold," Sophia whispered aloud.
She blew out all eight candles in one quick, determined breath.
A thin trail of sweet-smelling smoke drifted up toward the wooden ceiling rafters. Maria clapped her hands, wiping a stray tear from her own eye, and immediately began slicing the cake into generous, thick portions.
While Sophia happily ate her slice, Salvatore gestured for Elena to follow him back into the hallway.
"There are four guest bedrooms upstairs," Salvatore said, stepping onto the carpeted hallway. "Each has a private bath, hot water, clean clothes in the wardrobe, and fresh linens. Nobody enters this house without my permission. Security guards patrol the perimeter twenty-four hours a day."
Elena looked at him, her heart hammering against her ribs with a strange mixture of overwhelming gratitude and deep, lingering apprehension.
"What is the catch, Salvatore?" she asked, her voice trembling. "In my world, men like you don't offer sanctuary without asking for something in return. What do you want from me?"
Salvatore stopped walking. He turned around, stepping close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his broad chest. His dark eyes locked onto hers with absolute, unyielding intensity.
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"I want to finish what Thomas Vance started," Salvatore said clearly. "I want to settle the score with Paul Moretti. And I want to ensure that Thomas’s daughter and granddaughter never have to ask for an expired piece of bread ever again."
He leaned down slightly, his voice dropping to a low rumble. "You give me your trust, Elena. That is the only price. Give me your trust, and I will give you back your life."
