Chapter 3 - Blood and Silk
Living in the Rossi fortress was like living in a gilded cage.
For two weeks, Aaliyah recovered under the watchful eyes of Roman’s top medical staff. But wherever she went within the estate—the gardens, the library, the sprawling kitchen—Leo was less than two feet behind her. The boy refused to sleep in his own room; instead, he set up a sleeping bag on the rug beside her bed, rising at the slightest sound she made.
One evening, as the sun dipped low over the blue waters of Lake Michigan, Aaliyah walked down the grand marble staircase to find Leo sitting at the grand piano in the main drawing room.
He was pressing single keys with one finger, generating low, sad notes that resonated off the high ceilings.
Roman was standing near the floor-to-ceiling windows, holding a glass of scotch, watching his son with a pained expression.
Aaliyah walked over to the piano and sat down on the bench beside Leo. She didn't press him to speak. She simply reached out and played a simple, gentle lullaby melody—one her grandmother had taught her back in North Chicago.
Leo stopped picking at the keys. He listened, his head tilted, his dark eyes watching her fingers move over the ivory. Then, slowly, tentatively, he raised his small hands and began playing the higher octave notes, perfectly mirroring her rhythm.
Roman almost dropped his glass of scotch.
He stepped away from the window, his chest heaving as he watched his mute, traumatized son creating music with a woman who had entered their lives less than a month ago.
“His mother played piano,” Roman murmured, his voice thick as he stepped up behind the bench. “Julietta used to play that exact piece when he was a baby.”
Leo stopped playing, but he didn't run away. He leaned back against Aaliyah, allowing her to put an arm around him.
“He remembers her,” Aaliyah said softly, looking up at Roman.
“He remembers the day she died,” Roman confessed, his dark eyes darkening with an old, festering grief. “Two years ago, a car bomb was meant for me. Julietta got in the car first. Leo saw it happen from the front porch. He hasn't spoken a word since that afternoon.”
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Aaliyah looked down at the little boy in her arms. The anger she had harbored toward Roman for bringing violence into a child’s life shifted into a bitter, painful understanding. Roman wasn't just a ruthless mobster; he was a broken man trying to protect a broken child from a world that wanted to devour them both.
Suddenly, the house alarm blared—a harsh, rhythmic klaxon that turned the warm drawing room into an arena of flashing red emergency lights.
