Chapter 4 - Lessons in the Library
The study on the second floor was the warmest room in the mansion.
A wide stone fireplace crackled with burning oak logs, casting a rich orange glow across rows of leather-bound books, ancient maps of Providence, and dark velvet sofas.
An hour later, Milo sat on the thick rug before the fire, eating a bowl of beef stew with a small silver spoon, his wooden soldier resting on his knee.
Nadia sat on the edge of a leather armchair, sipping tea, her dark eyes watching Salvatore as he sat at his grand desk, reading through shipping ledgers by the light of a green banker’s lamp.
The house was quiet now. The storm outside lashed against the glass, but inside the study, the air felt safe, warm, and real.
“He hasn't stopped looking at you,” Nadia said softly, breaking the quiet.
Salvatore looked up from his ledger.
Milo was sitting on the rug, his small jaw working on a piece of bread, his dark eyes fixed on the massive leather wheelchair.
“He’s never seen a man who can't walk before,” Salvatore said neutrally.
“No,” Nadia corrected gently, setting her tea cup down. “He’s never seen a man who sits like a mountain, no matter what happens around him.”
Salvatore looked at her.
Nadia was sitting with her posture relaxed for the first time since she had arrived at the mansion. In the warm firelight, her soft blond hair caught the light, and her tired face looked soft, beautiful, and deeply resilient.
“Why did you come to work here, Nadia?” Salvatore asked quietly. “You knew who I was. You knew what kind of business is conducted behind these gates.”
Nadia looked into the fire.
“When my husband died,” she murmured, her voice carrying the ache of long, lonely years, “we were left with nothing. The banks took our apartment. The local shops wouldn't hire a woman with a silent, traumatized child. Mrs. Renaldi told me the Ferraro mansion needed a housekeeper. She said the work was hard, and the master was cold...”
She looked up, her dark eyes meeting his gray gaze without fear.
“...but she said the master was an honorable man who kept his word. In my life, Mr. Ferraro, honorable men are harder to find than rich ones.”
Salvatore felt a strange, unfamiliar warmth expand in his chest.
Honorable.
His enemies called him a monster. His cousin called him a cripple.
This woman, who spent her days scrubbing his floors, called him honorable.
A quiet sound came from near his desk.
Milo had stood up from the rug. He walked slowly over to Salvatore’s wheelchair, holding his wooden soldier in one hand and a thick children’s book he had dragged from the bottom shelf in the other.
The book was an old copy of The Swiss Family Robinson, bound in green cloth with gold lettering.
Milo set the heavy book on Salvatore’s lap, right over his dead legs.
“Read,” Milo whispered.
Nadia stood up quickly. “Milo! Mr. Ferraro is busy with his work—”
“It’s fine, Nadia,” Salvatore interrupted softly.
He closed his shipping ledger, setting his gold pen aside. He picked up the heavy green book, running his scarred thumb over the embossed gold letters.
He reached down with his left arm, lifting Milo with effortless strength, setting the small four-year-old boy directly onto his lap, right beside the wooden soldier.
Milo snuggled back against Salvatore’s broad chest, resting his small dark head against Salvatore’s wool jacket.
Salvatore opened the first page of the book.
“Chapter One,” Salvatore read aloud, his deep, resonant baritone filling the warm study. “For many days the storm raged with unyielding fury...”
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Nadia sat back down in her chair, watching the scene through a haze of happy tears.
The feared Wolf of Providence, the man whose name made the city tremble, was gently turning the pages of a children’s book, reading to a fatherless boy who had finally found his voice in the darkest house in the city.
