Chapter 2 - The Shadows in Cicero
By noon, the clouds had turned the sky above Chicago into a sheet of dirty ice.
Inside the kitchen wing of the estate, the heavy scent of roasted chicken, garlic, and fresh baked bread replaced the usual antiseptic smell of polish. For the first time in three years, the kitchen was loud.
Sofia Romano stood near the massive stainless-steel sink, her hands frozen mid-rinse as she stared at her daughter.
Emma was sitting on a high stool at the center marble island, wrapped in a plush wool blanket, happily swinging her legs while eating a large bowl of potato soup. The cook, a stern woman named Mrs. Gable who hadn't smiled since Elena’s death, was bustling around the stove, placing hot rolls, butter, and fresh fruit in front of the little girl.
"Mr. Moretti," Sofia whispered, her voice trembling as she approached me near the pantry doors. She looked exhausted, dark shadows bruising the skin beneath her large brown eyes, her frail frame practically swallowed by her plain denim work shirt. "I am so sorry. Did Emma disturb you again? I told her to stay in the lower quarters—"
"Sofia," I interrupted gently, stepping out of the shadows.
She flinched slightly—a subtle, instinctive reaction of a woman who had lived under the shadow of fear for far too long.
"Your husband was Antonio Romano," I said flatly.
Sofia’s breath hitched. Her hand flew to her collarbone, where a thin silver chain disappeared beneath her shirt. She looked down at the clean floor, her shoulders slumping under a crushing weight.
"Yes, sir," she whispered. "He... he worked for your security firm."
"He didn't just work for me, Sofia," I said, stepping closer, keeping my hands visible and still. "He threw himself into a burning car to save my daughter. He gave my family three hours of peace before Claire died. Why didn't you tell me who you were when you applied for the housekeeping job?"
Sofia swallowed hard, a single tear slipping down her pale cheek. "Because Antonio told me never to ask you for charity. He said... he said you were a good man carrying a burden too heavy for any person to bear. He said if I ever went to you, I should earn my keep. He didn't want me coming to your door with my hand out."
My chest tightened until it was painful to breathe.
Antonio Romano had given his life trying to save my child, and his widow had scrubbed my floors for four months just to earn four hundred dollars a week to pay a slumlords' extortionate rent in Cicero.
"You aren't scrubbing another floor in this house, Sofia," I said, my voice leaving no room for argument. "Starting today, you and Emma are moving into the guest wing on the second floor."
Sofia raised her head, her eyes wide with shock. "Mr. Moretti, no! I can't accept that! The second floor... that's where your family's rooms are—"
"That is where Antonio’s family belongs," I corrected firmly. "The apartment in Cicero... we are going to pack your things tonight."
What I didn't tell her was what my head of security, Frank, had reported to me an hour earlier.
The apartment building in Cicero where Sofia and Emma lived was not owned by a simple slumlord. It was a front property owned by Valenti Holdings—a shell corporation belonging to Dominic Marcone, the younger, ruthless nephew of the old boss who had ordered the bombing three years ago.
For three months, Dominic Marcone had been bleeding Sofia dry, hiking her rent, sending muscle to threaten her, making sure she stayed broke, desperate, and exhausted.
It wasn't a coincidence.
Marcone knew who Antonio was. He knew Antonio had been at the scene of the bombing. And he had been keeping Antonio’s widow on a tight leash, waiting to see if she knew something about that night that hadn't been buried in the official police report.
"Frank," I said into my encrypted earpiece as I turned away from Sofia and walked toward my private study.
"I'm here, Boss," Frank’s voice rasped in my ear.
"Get two armored Suburbans ready," I ordered, staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows toward the grey expanse of the lake. "We're going to Cicero tonight. I want to clear out Sofia’s apartment myself."
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"Boss, Cicero is Marcone territory," Frank warned, his tone heavy with concern. "Dominic has been making moves on the docks down there. If he sees your detail in his district—"
"Let him see me," I hissed, my pale blue eyes reflecting the cold fire in my chest. "It's time Dominic Marcone remembers why they call me Stone."
