Chapter 2 - The Soft Sound of Thunder
Dominic Russo did not slam the door. A man like him didn't need to slam doors to make his presence known; the sheer weight of his existence did that for him. He simply clicked it shut, the heavy mahogany barrier locking the five of us inside the kitchen with the smell of flour, vanilla, and a song that had just died in my throat.
The youngest triplet, Mia, was still perched on my shoulders, her tiny fingers gripping my hair. On the marble island, her sisters, Ava and Chloe, froze mid-laugh. The pure, bell-like giggles that had filled the room a second ago vanished, sucked out of the space like oxygen.
Dominic didn't look at his daughters first. He looked at me. His coat was damp from the New York rain, his dark hair brushed back, and his eyes—usually as unreadable as obsidian—were wide, fixed on my face with a terrifying intensity.
"Where did you learn that song?" he asked.
His voice wasn't the cold, calculating whisper I had heard through the study door at two in the morning. It was raw. It sounded like something heavy being dragged over broken glass.
I swallowed hard, my hands trembling as I reached up to gently lower Mia from my shoulders. "My... my mother used to sing it, Mr. Russo. It's just an old lullaby."
Dominic took two slow steps forward. The guards outside the kitchen window didn't move, standing like statues, but inside, the temperature had plummeted. He stopped just inches away from the flour-dusted table. He reached out a gloved hand, his fingers hovering over the scattered white powder, before his gaze drifted down to Ava.
Ava, who hadn't looked her father in the eye for fourteen months, didn't look away this time. She reached out and grabbed the hem of my apron.
"Sing," Ava whispered again.
The word was tiny, a fragile spark in a dark room, but it hit Dominic like a physical blow. I saw the imperceptible flinch in his jaw, the sudden expansion of his chest as his breath caught. A mafia boss, a man who controlled empires with a nod of his head, looked completely paralyzed by a single syllable from a four-year-old girl.
"She spoke," Dominic murmured, his eyes tracking from Ava to Chloe, then up to Mia, who was now hiding behind my legs. "You... you made them speak."
"I didn't make them do anything," I said, my voice surprisingly steady despite the roaring of my blood. "I just didn't force them to be quiet."
Dominic stared at me for what felt like an eternity. The recognition in his eyes didn't fade; it deepened. He wasn't just recognizing the song. He was recognizing the shift in his own house—the realization that a stranger had unlocked the vault he had been pounding against with bleeding knuckles for over a year.
He stepped back, his posture instantly shifting back into the rigid, untouchable armor he wore for the world. "Rosa!" he called out, his voice sharp enough to cut through the thick air.
The elderly housekeeper appeared at the side door within seconds, her hands wringing her apron, her eyes darting between me and the boss in sheer terror. "Yes, Mr. Russo?"
"Take the girls upstairs," Dominic commanded, not breaking eye contact with me. "And you... Clara, is it?"
May you like
"Yes," I whispered.
"In my study. Now."
