Chapter 3 - Secrets Unraveled
By the third day at the estate, a strange, tense routine had formed. Milo, with the resilient adaptability of a four-year-old, had discovered that the giant kitchen possessed a built-in ice cream dispenser and that the tall man with the dark eyes was surprisingly good at drawing dinosaurs.
Lena watched them from the balcony of the second floor. Marco was sitting on the polished concrete of the patio, a black marker in his hand, carefully sketching a Tyrannosaurus Rex while Milo gave highly specific instructions on the size of the teeth.
"He needs more spikes, Mr. Marco," Milo said, leaning his small elbows on Marco's knee. "For fighting the bad guys."
"Spikes it is," Marco murmured, his expression softer than Lena had ever seen it. There was an ease in his shoulders when he looked at the boy—a total absence of the hyper-vigilance that characterized his every other interaction.
Lena walked down the stairs, her boots clicking softly on the stone. Marco looked up instantly, the softness hardening back into his professional mask before he recognized her.
"Leo found the source," Lena said, holding a printed document she had taken from the study.
Marco stood up, dusting off his trousers. He looked down at Milo. "Go see Mrs. Gable in the kitchen, Milo. See if she has those strawberries we talked about."
"Okay!" Milo scrambled up and dashed toward the house, his sneakers squeaking against the glass doors.
Once the boy was out of earshot, Marco turned to Lena. "Who was it?"
"Your cousin, Dominic," Lena said, her voice tight. "He’s been working with the Valetti family in Seattle. They wanted to use the Portland port to bypass your northern checkpoints. They knew you were coming down personally to inspect the docks. They didn't know about Milo initially—they just wanted to eliminate you while you were away from your New York stronghold. But once Dominic saw the surveillance photos from the market..."
She handed him the paper. It was a intercepted encrypted text message between Dominic and a Seattle number. It contained a high-resolution photo of Milo pointing across the market stand. The caption read: The boy is a spitting image of the Don. We don't just kill Bettini. We take the heir. The old man will hand over the keys to the entire Atlantic fleet to get him back.
Marco’s fingers crushed the paper into a tight ball. His face didn't change color; it went entirely devoid of emotion, a terrifying blankness that Lena knew meant a death sentence had just been signed.
"They think he's an asset," Marco said, his voice dangerously quiet. "They think my son is a bargaining chip."
"They're coming here, aren't they?" Lena asked. She wasn't crying. The years of running had burned the tears out of her. Instead, she felt a cold, sharp focus settling into her chest.
"They'll try," Marco said. He looked at her, his eyes dark and intense. "Dominic knows about this property. He thinks it's just a secondary transport hub. He doesn't know I upgraded the defense grid last month."
"We need to leave," Lena said, her survival instinct screaming. "We can take a car, head north into Canada—"
"No," Marco interrupted, his hand finally coming down to rest firmly on her shoulder. The warmth of his palm seeped through her linen shirt. "If we run now, Lena, we run forever. Milo will spend his tenth birthday changing his name. He'll spend his sixteenth birthday looking over his shoulder at every market he visits. Is that what you want for him?"
Lena looked back into the house, through the glass, where Milo was happily eating a strawberry, his face covered in red juice.
May you like
"No," she whispered.
"Then we end it here," Marco said. "Tonight."
