Chapter 3 - The Secret in the Storm
Aleandro dropped to his knees right there on my worn entryway rug.
The Don of New York, a man feared by politicians, judges, and rival syndicates, fell to his knees in a peeling hallway in Queens, weeping silently into his hands.
Oliver ran forward, throwing his small arms around his father's neck. "Daddy! Don't cry! The lady gave me soup! She has a red crayon!"
Aleandro pulled Oliver into a fierce, desperate hug, burying his face in his son's dark hair. But his eyes never left Emma. They burned with a mixture of profound love, agonized regret, and devastating betrayal.
"Why?" Aleandro sobbed, looking up at me through a haze of tears. "Why didn't you tell me, Sophia? Six years... six years I thought you left me because you hated me! I thought you ran because I wasn't enough!"
"You know why I ran, Aleandro!" I yelled, the terror inside me finally exploding into righteous anger. "Look at what happened outside twenty minutes ago! Four black SUVs! Armed men surrounding a suburban street! That is your world!"
I stepped forward, pointing an accusing finger at his chest.
"I found out I was pregnant three days after your brother was killed in that warehouse fire in Brooklyn!" I shouted, tears streaming down my cheeks. "I saw the news photos of your car riddled with bullet holes! I saw what happened to your first wife! I knew that if I stayed, if I brought a baby into your blood-soaked house, she would spent her whole life wearing bulletproof glass!"
Aleandro stood up slowly, holding Oliver against his hip, his face contorted in agony.
"I would have protected you," he whispered fiercely. "I would have laid down my life for both of you!"
"And who would have protected her from your life?!" I countered, my voice shaking. "I wanted her to have a mother who lived to see her grow up! I wanted her to eat soup in a quiet kitchen without armed bodyguards standing at the door!"
Emma reached out and took my hand, looking up at Aleandro with a strange, fearless curiosity. "Are you Oliver's daddy?" she asked softly.
Aleandro looked down at her. The lethal rage in his eyes vanished instantly, replaced by a tenderness so deep it broke my heart all over again.
He knelt down again, bringing himself to eye level with Emma.
"Yes, little one," Aleandro whispered, reaching out a trembling hand, pausing inches from her cheek as if asking for permission. "I am Oliver's daddy. And I am... I am your daddy, too."
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Emma looked at his big, scarred hand, then looked at me. "Mommy? Is he the man from the drawing?"
I couldn't speak. I just nodded through my tears.
