Chapter 4 - Shadows from the Past
Three weeks passed, and the rhythm of the Rossi estate became Hunter’s entire reality.
Leo was transforming before their eyes. His cheeks had filled out, turning a healthy, rosy pink. The brittle, dry texture of his skin had vanished, replaced by the soft, sweet plumptitude of a thriving infant. He had even begun to make small, gurgling noises when Hunter talked to him after his morning feedings—noises that brought a rare, fleeting smile to Lorenzo’s otherwise stoic face.
But as Leo grew stronger, the tension outside the nursery walls grew thicker.
One rainy Tuesday evening, Hunter was walking down the long corridor toward the kitchen to get a glass of warm milk for herself. The house was mostly dark, the heavy drapes drawn against the storm howling off the ocean.
As she passed the double doors of Lorenzo’s private study, she heard loud, angry voices from within.
"The Moretti family is moving on the Brooklyn docks, Lorenzo!" Mateo was shouting, his usual calm demeanor gone. "They know we’ve been distracted by the kid. They think you've gone soft because you haven't ordered a hit since the funeral."
"Let them think what they want," Lorenzo’s voice replied, cold and flat as stone. "The docks are replaceable. My son is not."
"It’s not just the docks," Mateo hissed. "They’re talking to the Kensingtons. They’re trying to build a coalition to freeze us out of the autumn supply lines. If we don't strike back now, the captains are going to start switching sides. They need to see the beast, Lorenzo. They need to know you’re still the man who cleared the East River twenty years ago."
A heavy silence followed. Hunter stood in the hallway, her fingers tight against the silk of her robe, her breath held.
"Tell the captains to assemble at the warehouse in Flushing tomorrow midnight," Lorenzo finally said, his voice dropping into that quiet, lethal territory that made Hunter’s skin crawl. "If Moretti wants a war, I will give him one that his grandchildren will feel in their bones. But the third floor of this house remains locked down. No one goes in, no one goes out. If a single stranger steps onto the lawn, you kill them first and ask questions later."
Hunter backed away from the door, her heart hammering. She hurried back toward the safety of the third floor, realizing that the luxury surrounding her was nothing more than a golden cage built on top of a powder keg.
When she entered her suite, she found a small, white envelope lying on her bedside table.
There were no security markings on it. No official Rossi stamp.
May you like
With trembling hands, she tore it open. Inside was a single piece of lined notebook paper with words scrawled in an aggressive, familiar handwriting that made her stomach turn to lead.
I know where you are, Hunter. You think that mafia prick can keep you from me? You still owe me. See you soon. - Tommy.
