Chapter 4 - Shadows in the Snow
By the end of November, Chicago was entombed in three feet of packed snow and ice.
The city felt smaller, quieter, and infinitely more dangerous. The news was filled with quiet reports of "industrial accidents" along the Chicago River and burned-out luxury sedans found in abandoned parking lots in Cicero—subtle, unspoken indicators that the long-dormant feud between the Marchetti outfit and the Moretti crime family was turning hot.
I tried to ignore it. I tried to focus solely on the flour ratios for Sophia’s birthday pie, the lingering medical bills in my mailbox, and the exhausting routine of my double life.
But you cannot sit inside a fortress without noticing the guards.
Every morning when I arrived, the security around the brownstone was tighter. Two extra men in black suits stood at the Elm Street gate. Franco moved with a heightened, nervous energy, his hand constantly resting near his left armpit beneath his overcoat.
It was 12:30 PM on a Thursday when the peace finally shattered.
Sophia was sitting at the kitchen island, meticulously rolling out a disk of sweet pie dough with a heavy wooden pin. I was standing beside her, demonstrating how to use the weight of her shoulders rather than her wrists to keep the thickness even.
Suddenly, the heavy double doors of the kitchen burst open.
Alaric walked in, followed closely by Franco and a man I had never seen before—a tall, gaunt figure with a severe scar across his throat, holding a heavy leather briefcase.
"Franco, clear the upper floors," Alaric commanded, his tone devoid of all warmth, vibrating with pure, unadulterated authority. "Get the perimeter team on high alert. No one enters or leaves the block without my direct authorization."
"Boss, the feds just pulled a warrant on the warehouse in West Loop," the scarred man said, his voice raspy. "The Morettis leaked the manifest. They're trying to trap us between a federal indictment and a street war."
Alaric stopped abruptly, his eyes landing on Sophia and me.
Sophia had frozen, the rolling pin lifted two inches above the butter-fpeckled dough. Her pale face turned toward the sound of his voice, her large, unfocused eyes wide with sudden fear.
"Papa?" her voice trembled. "What's happening? Who is that?"
Alaric took a deep breath, his entire demeanor shifting instantly as he stepped toward his daughter. The terrifying Don vanished, replaced instantly by the devoted father. He knelt beside her chair, taking her flour-dusted hands in his.
"It's okay, mia cara," he whispered softly, kissing her knuckles. "Just some business matters with uncle Franco. Nothing for you to worry about."
"You're lying," Sophia said, her voice small but piercingly clear. "Your heart is beating fast. I can hear it from here."
Alaric closed his eyes for a brief second, pain flickering across his features before he mastered himself. He stood up and turned to me.
"Mia," he said, his tone clipped and absolute. "Your shift is over for today. Franco will escort you out through the subterranean garage."
"Wait," I said, stepping between Alaric and the door. "Look at her, Alaric. She's terrified. You can't just push her into the dark every time your world leaks into this house."
The scarred man let out a sharp, incredulous gasp. "Who the hell is this girl? Boss, do you want me to clear her out?"
Alaric raised a single hand, stopping the scarred man instantly. His gray eyes locked onto mine, blazing with a dangerous, volatile heat.
"You step far beyond your boundary, Miss Chen," Alaric warned, his voice a low, terrifying whisper that made the hair on my arms stand up. "You are hired to cook. You are not her mother. You do not tell me how to manage my house."
The words hit me like a physical blow. You are not her mother.
The harsh reality of my position slammed into my chest, cold and suffocating. He was right. I was a waitress earning three hundred dollars a morning. I was an outsider playing house in a castle built on blood and illegal money.
"I know what I am," I said quietly, my voice steady despite the hot tears burning behind my eyes. I turned to Sophia, dropping to one knee beside her chair. "Sophia, sweetie... wrap the dough in plastic and put it in the fridge. It needs to rest before we bake it tomorrow. Okay?"
Sophia swallowed hard, her little hands trembling as she reached for the plastic wrap. "Okay, Mia."
I stood up, pulled my cheap coat over my shoulders, and looked Alaric dead in the eye.
May you like
"I'll see myself out," I said quietly. "You don't need to waste Franco's time."
I walked past him, my shoulder brushing his arm, and stepped out into the freezing Chicago snow.
