Chapter 2 - The Blue Door
The Maybach cut through the rain-drenched streets of Brooklyn like a silent shadow, flanked by two unmarked black SUVs that had fallen into formation behind them.
Annie sat pressed against Alessandro’s side. She hadn't intended to move closer, but as the car turned sharp corners, the warmth of the man beside her drew her in like a magnet. Alessandro didn't push her. He simply kept his arm extended along the back seat, creating a protective barrier between her small body and the rest of the world.
"Turn left here," Annie whispered, her small finger pressing against the dark glass of the window. "Past the red fence."
The driver followed her directions precisely. They pulled onto a narrow, poorly lit street where streetlights flickered against the heavy downpour. Old brownstone buildings stood shoulder to shoulder, their brick facades worn away by decades of harsh winters.
"There," Annie said, pointing to a weathered, four-story building at the end of the block.
The front entrance had a fading blue door with chipped paint. A single dim bulb hung above the steps, buzzing like a dying insect in the damp air.
Before the car had even come to a complete stop, Marco had his radio out. "Perimeter sweep. Teams One and Two, take the roof and the alleyway. Team Three, front entrance. Nobody comes in or out."
"Wait in the car," Alessandro ordered Marco coldness.
"Boss, you can't go in there unarmored," Marco protested, turning around. "If the Falcone family or the Russians knew about this place—"
"If they knew about this place," Alessandro interrupted, his eyes fixed on the blue door, "they would have used her against me two years ago. They don't know. Yet."
He opened his door, stepped out into the pouring rain, and turned back to hold out his hand for Annie.
Annie looked at his large, leather-gloved hand. She reached out her tiny hand, her fingers vanishing inside his grip. Alessandro lifted her effortlessly onto his hip, wrapping his heavy cashmere coat around her to shield her from the wind, and carried her up the concrete steps toward the blue door.
The building smelled of old paper, damp radiator heat, and cabbage.
"Which floor, Annie?" Alessandro asked as they stepped into the dim entryway.
"Third floor. Apartment 3B," she whispered, her hands tight around his neck.
Alessandro took the stairs two at a time. His men moved silently ahead of him, weapons drawn, checking the dark corners of the stairwell before signaling that the path was clear.
When they reached the third floor, the door to 3B was slightly ajar.
Alessandro’s eyes narrowed. He motioned for Marco to stay back. He approached the door carefully, pushing it open with the toe of his leather shoe.
The apartment was tiny, sparse, but immaculately clean. Hand-knit blankets rested on an old floral sofa. Cheap framed photographs lined a small wooden side table—photographs of Elena.
Elena smiling in a sunlit park. Elena holding a newborn baby wrapped in a pink blanket.
Alessandro’s chest tightened so hard he could barely breathe.
On the floor near the small kitchen kitchenette lay an elderly woman. She was pale, her skin grey under the harsh fluorescent light, her breaths coming in short, rattling gasps. A shattered glass of water lay near her outstretched hand.
"Grandma!" Annie cried out, trying to wrinkle out of Alessandro's grip.
Alessandro set her down gently. "Stay with me, Annie. Let me help her."
He strode across the room, dropping to his knees beside the old woman. He checked her pulse at her neck—it was faint, erratic, fluttering like a trapped moth.
"Marco!" Alessandro barked. "Get Dr. Vance here. Now. Tell him to bring a mobile cardiac unit. If he isn't here in seven minutes, I’ll burn his clinic down."
"On it, Boss," Marco said, quickly pulling out his encrypted phone and barking orders.
The old woman’s eyelids fluttered open. She looked up through hazy, fading vision, seeing the towering figure of a man in an expensive suit kneeling over her. Her frail, spotted hand moved weakly, trying to push Annie behind her.
"Don't... don't hurt her..." the old woman gasped, her voice barely a rattle. "Take... take whatever we have... don't touch the baby..."
"I'm not here to hurt you," Alessandro said, his voice softer than Marco had ever heard it. He reached down and picked up the red pharmacy bag Annie had carried through the rain. "Annie brought your medicine."
The old woman’s eyes drifted to Annie, who was kneeling on the other side of her, tears finally breaking through her quiet composure and streaming down her small, red cheeks.
"Annie..." the old woman whispered. "You... you came back..."
"I got the pills, Grandma," Annie sobbed, wiping her nose with her sleeve. "The big man gave me a ride."
The old woman looked back up at Alessandro. As her vision cleared slightly, her eyes caught the silver songbird necklace resting on Annie’s chest. Then she looked at Alessandro’s face—his jaw, his dark hair, and those unmistakable, cold gray-blue eyes that were currently filled with an overwhelming agony.
A sudden, sharp gasp escaped the old woman's lips.
"You..." she breathed, her frail fingers reaching up with astonishing speed to clutch at Alessandro’s sleeve. "You're... Alessandro..."
"Yes," Alessandro said quietly. "I am Alessandro."
"Elena... Elena said... you were a monster..." the old woman wept, her breath growing shorter. "She said... you would take her... if you found out..."
"I didn't know," Alessandro whispered, the words tearing out of his throat like glass. "I swear to you on my mother's grave... I never knew."
The old woman stared into his eyes for a long, agonizing moment, searching for a lie in the face of the most feared syndicate boss in New York. She found none.
"She loved you," the old woman rasped, her grip on his sleeve weakening as her strength faded. "She hated what you were... but she loved you until her last breath. She named her... Anastasia..."
Anastasia.
The name struck Alessandro like a lightning bolt. It was his mother's name.
"Hold on," Alessandro commanded, taking her frail hand in his broad palm. "The doctor is coming. You are not going to die tonight. I won't allow it."
"I'm tired, Alessandro..." the old woman whispered, her eyes beginning to roll back. "I kept her safe for three years... now... now it's your turn..."
"Boss! Doctor's here!" Marco yelled from the hallway.
Two men in black tactical gear burst into the room carrying heavy medical kits, followed by Dr. Vance—Alessandro’s personal physician, a man who had treated bullet wounds in dark basements for twenty years.
"Get her stabilized!" Alessandro ordered, rising to his feet as the medical team swarmed the old woman. "If she dies, Vance, your career dies with her."
"She's in severe cardiac distress, Mr. Moretti," Vance said, immediately attaching oxygen and preparing an IV line. "We need to move her to the private facility in Manhattan immediately."
Alessandro turned and picked up Annie, pulling her face into his neck so she wouldn't see the needles and oxygen mask being forced onto her grandmother's face.
Annie wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in his collar. She was trembling continuously now, the shock of the night finally breaking through her unnatural calm.
"Is Grandma going to sleep like Mommy?" she sobbed softly into his ear.
May you like
Alessandro pressed his hand to the back of her head, holding her tight against his chest.
"No," Alessandro whispered, his voice dark with absolute promise. "Nobody else dies, Annie. Not while I'm breathing."
