Chapter 2 - The Blue Door on Fourth Street
The car crept down a narrow, dimly lit side street in South Brooklyn, flanked by rusted chain-link fences and decaying brick tenements. The rain had slowed to a miserable drizzle, casting long, bruised shadows under the flickering yellow streetlamps.
— There, Annie pointed suddenly, pressing her small palm against the tinted window glass. That's the blue door!
Marco pulled the Mercedes smoothly to the curb, cutting the headlights. The building in front of them was a tired, three-story walk-up with peeling paint and a rusted metal fire escape. A single light burned behind a grimy second-floor window.
Before Marco could reach for the door handle, Alessandro pushed his own door open, stepping directly into a puddle.
— Boss, wait, Marco warned, his hand sliding toward his shoulder holster. This could be—
— Stay in the car, Alessandro commanded.
He didn't wait for an argument. He strode to the back door, opened it, and carefully lifted Annie into his arms. The little girl didn't flinch; she simply rested her head against his broad shoulder, her small arms wrapping around his neck, clutching the red pharmacy bag in one hand.
Up the concrete steps they went, the wind howling through the alleyways. Alessandro approached the faded blue wooden door. He didn't knock. He tested the brass knob. It turned with a soft click.
The door pushed open into a dimly lit, narrow hallway smelling of damp wood and antiseptic.
— Grandma? Annie called out softly. I got the medicine!
— Annie? A weak, raspy voice drifted from a doorway down the hall. Oh, thank God... I told you not to go out into the storm, baby...
Alessandro strode down the hall and pushed open the bedroom door.
A frail older woman with silver hair pulled back in a loose bun lay on an old iron cot, covered in a patchwork quilt. Her face was pale, glistening with a cold sweat, her breathing shallow and ragged. On the bedside table sat an empty bottle of prescription pills and a glass of stagnant water.
When she saw Alessandro standing in the doorway carrying her granddaughter, she bolted upright, her eyes widening in sheer, paralyzing terror.
— Who... who are you? the woman gasped, clutching the blanket to her chest. Get away from her!
— It's okay, Grandma, Annie piped up, wriggling down from Alessandro’s arms and running to the bed with the red bag. He brought me home. And he's nice. He has the same bird as me.
The grandmother stared at Alessandro, her gaze dropping from his stern, imposing face down to the open collar of his shirt, where the edge of his platinum signet ring gleamed on its chain.
Her breath hitched. The terror in her eyes slowly melted into a profound, devastating realization.
— You... you're...
— Where is she? Alessandro demanded, his voice trembling with an emotion he hadn't felt since he was a boy. Where is Elena?
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The old woman began to weep, covering her face with shaking hands.
— She's gone, Mr. Moretti, she sobbed. She didn't survive the fever last winter. But before she died... she made me promise that if you ever found us, I would give you your daughter.
