Chapter 3 - The Hidden Canvas
The hours dragged by in the third-floor staff apartment. Sophia paced the small living area, her heart in her throat every time she heard footsteps outside in the grand hallway. Outside the rain had begun to fall in heavy, relentless sheets, slanting against the bulletproof glass of the townhouse.
Emma, completely unfazed by the tension, was sitting on the rug with her watercolor set. She had found a piece of heavy cream cardstock in a wastebasket—discarded stationary bearing the embossed gold crest of the Moretti family—and was busily painting again.
"Emma, sweetheart, please put the paints away," Sophia pleaded softly, sitting beside her daughter and smoothing down her dark hair. "We might have to leave quickly."
"Look, Mama," Emma said, pointing her tiny, paint-stained finger at the paper. "I drew the secret door man."
Sophia glanced down, expecting to see another purple dog or a crooked house. But as her eyes scanned the paper, her breath caught in her throat.
The painting was crude, as expected of a three-year-old, but the details were terrifyingly specific. Emma had painted a large black rectangle—clearly the heavy bookshelf in Alessandro’s private study downstairs, where Sophia had been dusting earlier that morning. But behind the bookshelf, Emma had drawn a small red figure holding a tiny black stick, pointing it at a bigger blue figure sleeping on a sofa.
"Emma," Sophia’s voice shook. "Where did you see this?"
"In the quiet room," Emma said innocently, dipping her brush into purple. "Before the boss man woke up. The man with the shiny watch opened the wall. He put a little black box under the desk, and then he looked at the sleeping man with a bad face. Like this." Emma squeezed her face into an exaggerated scowl.
Sophia felt a cold drop of sweat run down her spine. The man with the shiny watch.
Vincent Romano wore a gold pocket watch given to him by Alessandro’s father.
And Marco Moretti wore a massive, diamond-encrusted silver watch on his left wrist.
"Emma, listen to me very carefully," Sophia said, grabbing her daughter’s small shoulders, her voice urgent. "Did the man see you?"
"No," Emma shook her head, her pigtails swaying. "I was under the big red chair getting my red crayon. He pushed the books, and the wall went click-clack."
Sophia looked back at the painting. Emma had drawn a small wire coming out of a black square beneath the desk, leading toward the baseboards. A wiretap. Or worse—an explosive charge.
Suddenly, the heavy oak door of the apartment clicked open.
Sophia jumped up, pushing Emma behind her back.
Alessandro stood in the doorway. His coat was off, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing dark tattoos of old Italian proverbs spiraling up his skin. He looked exhausted, the lines on his face deeper than before, but his eyes were sharp.
"Sophia," he said quietly. "It’s time for you to go home. I’ve arranged a car to take you back to Queens."
"Mr. Moretti," Sophia stammered, holding the sheet of heavy stationery behind her back. "I... I need to tell you something. About the study."
Alessandro paused, his hand still on the brass doorknob. "What about the study?"
"Emma saw something," Sophia said, her courage rising against the fear that had kept her silent all day. "Before you woke up. When you were on the sofa."
Alessandro’s eyes flicked down to the little girl peering around Sophia’s waist. He stepped into the room, closing the door softly behind him.
"Show me," he said.
Sophia slowly held out the piece of cardstock. Alessandro took it. His eyes scanned the bright, childlike watercolors—the crude red figure, the secret door behind the library shelf, the small black box drawn underneath the mahogany desk.
Alessandro’s expression didn't change, but a cold, terrifying stillness settled over his entire body.
"Emma," Alessandro said, dropping to one knee before the child again. "The man who opened the wall... did he have silver hair, or dark hair?"
Emma placed a finger on her chin, thinking hard. "Dark hair. Big gray suit. And a shiny watch that goes sparkle-sparkle when the light hits it."
Marco.
Alessandro closed his eyes for three seconds. When he opened them, the last traces of softness were gone, replaced by a cold, calculation that made Sophia shiver. Marco had not just brought bad news about the docks; he had been installing a listening device—or planting evidence for the federal raid that Marco had warned was coming.
"Vincent!" Alessandro called out calmly toward the open hallway.
The old consigliere appeared in the doorway seconds later, his face pale. "Yes, Don Alessandro?"
"Take Sophia and the girl downstairs to my personal vehicle," Alessandro commanded, his voice steady as steel. "Not the street car. The armored SUV in the lower bay. You will drive them to the safe house in Long Island yourself. Do not use the main highways. Do not answer your phone."
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"Alessandro... what’s happening?" Vincent asked, his hand instinctively resting over the pocket where his watch sat.
"A snake has crawled into the house, Vincent," Alessandro said, looking at the crude watercolor painting in his hand. "And a three-year-old child just handed me the shovel to kill it."
