Chapter 6 - The Morning of the Three Kings
The sun did not shine over New York the next morning. It was a thick, yellow dawn that turned the sleet into a greasy gray fog over the East River.
In the guest room of the Red Hook warehouse, the boys woke up at 6:30 AM exactly. Their internal clocks were tuned to the schedule of a Queens apartment where the school bus arrived early, and no amount of high-security luxury could change that.
Raphael was the first to explore. He opened the heavy oak door of the suite, his small feet bare against the heated concrete floor, and walked straight out into the grand hallway.
Dominic was sitting on a low leather bench opposite the door. He hadn't slept. He was still wearing the black t-shirt, his eyes bloodshot, an old paper ledger from his father’s era spread across his knees.
Raphael stopped three feet from him, his hands in the pockets of his flannel pajamas. "Where is the kitchen, big man?"
Dominic looked up from the ledger. His face softened so fast it looked like a structural failure. He closed the book with a soft thud. "Down the hall, to the left. Are your brothers awake?"
"Marco is crying because he can't find his blue sock," Raphael said, walking over to Dominic’s bench and studying the wolf tattoo on his arm with a clinical finger. "Did a dog bite you?"
"It’s a wolf," Dominic said, his arm remaining perfectly still so the boy could trace the black ink line near his wrist. "It means we look after the pack. If anyone touches the pack, the wolf handles it."
"Mama says wolves are only in the zoo," Raphael said.
"Your mama hasn't lived in this part of town for a long time," Dominic said, standing up and reaching down to scoop Raphael up onto his shoulder. The boy didn't even flinch this time; he simply held onto Dominic’s ear as if it were a handle on a subway train.
When I came out into the hall five minutes later, carrying a frantic Marco who was indeed missing his blue sock, the kitchen was already full of the smell of burning butter.
Dominic was standing at the industrial stove, a massive cast-iron skillet in front of him. He had three plates lined up on the counter, and he was currently trying to flip a pancake that was roughly the size of a hubcap. Luca was sitting on the marble island, his small legs dangling, watching the process with absolute awe.
"He made a star one, Mama!" Luca shouted, pointing a sticky finger at a plate where a piece of fried batter vaguely resembled an astrological symbol. "And he says we can have chocolate milk even though it’s Tuesday."
"Mr. Verano," I said, my voice sharp as I set Marco down on a stool. "They have a strict diet before preschool. No refined sugar before nine."
"They aren't going to preschool today, Elena," Dominic said, not turning around as he expertly flipped a second pancake into the air. "Nico checked the registry. Your apartment in Queens has two black sedans parked down the street with Jersey plates. They aren't my people. They belong to Alberto Rosetti."
My stomach dropped. Alberto Rosetti was Salvatore’s old partner, the man who handled the distribution networks in Newark. If he was watching my apartment, it meant someone from table twelve had leaked my return to the city within hours of the restaurant dinner.
"How did he find out?" I whispered, walking over to the island and pulling Luca closer to my side.
"Margaret Chen’s driver," Dominic said, his voice dropping into that flat, dangerous tone. "Nico picked him up at a diner in Secaucus three hours ago. He wasn't one of Margaret’s regular men. He was a temp hired through an agency two days ago. Rosetti paid his sister’s mortgage in exchange for the tracking log on the Lincoln."
He turned around, setting the skillet down on a cold burner. He looked at me, then at the three boys who were currently competing for the maple syrup bottle.
"You thought you were hiding from me, Elena," Dominic said quietly. "But you were actually hiding the only three things that keep the Rosetti family from taking over the entire northern shipping lane. If Alberto knows I have three heirs, he doesn't just want the money anymore. He wants the lineage erased so the commission divides the territory."
May you like
He walked over to me, his hand coming down over my shoulder, his fingers pressing into my collarbone with a protective, heavy warmth that made my breath catch.
"You're staying here," he said. "Until I clean Newark."
