Chapter 2 - The Cracks in the Armor

Alessandro did not move for five agonizing minutes.

The warmth of the child's worn coat rested against his chest—a light, frayed piece of cheap fabric that felt heavier than all the gold, landed estates, and blood money he had accumulated over thirty-eight years.

Five thousand dollars lay untouched on the table two feet away.

The girl sat shivering in the corner, her arms wrapped around her knees, her small teeth clicking quietly together from the cold draft coming through the window. She had given away her only protection against the cold to a stranger she thought was sleeping—a stranger whose name made ruthless men tremble.

She gave me everything she had, Alessandro thought, staring at the ceiling through closed eyes. And I set a trap for her mother.

The library door turned quietly.

Sophia Rossi slipped back into the room, holding a feather duster and a brass polish rag. Her face was pale with anxious terror. The moment her eyes scanned the room, her heart stopped.

Emma was sitting in the corner without her coat. And draped over the terrifying Don Alessandro Moretti was her daughter's ragged yellow jacket.

Sophia’s feather duster slipped from her fingers, clattering loudly against the hardwood floor.

"Emma!" Sophia gasped in a terrified, strangled whisper, rushing across the room. "What did you do? Oh God, what did you do?!"

Alessandro opened his eyes.

He sat up slowly. The yellow coat slid down into his lap. He caught it with one large, scarred hand.

Sophia dropped to her knees in front of his chair, pulling Emma behind her back like a mother bird shielding her chick from a hawk. Tears streamed down her face, washing through the light dusting of cleaning powder on her cheeks.

"Mr. Moretti, please!" Sophia sobbed, her voice shaking uncontrollably. "Please don't hurt her! She’s only six, she didn't mean any disrespect! I’ll leave right now! I’ll take my things and leave, just please don't touch my daughter!"

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Alessandro looked down at the weeping mother. Then he looked at the little girl peeking fearfully from behind her mother’s skirt.

For the first time in twenty years, Alessandro Moretti did not know what to say.