Chapter 7 - DAWN OVER BROOKLYNBy 5:30 AM, the rain had finally stopped, leaving Brooklyn draped in a thick, grey morning mist.
The emergency services had come and gone, hauling away the wreckage of the eastern wing and scrubbing the blood from the marble floors. The estate was silent once more—not the quiet of a trap waiting to be sprung, but the heavy, exhausted silence of a fortress that had weathered a war.
Aleandro stood in his private study.
The room smelled faintly of cordite and old walnut. The antique clock was gone, reduced to splinters in the blast, leaving an empty, lighter-colored rectangular shadow on the wood-paneled wall where it had hung for twenty-two years.
He didn't mourn the clock. Wood and brass could be replaced, or remembered. What mattered was that the rot had been cut out from the root.
A soft knock sounded at the heavy oak door.
"Come in," Aleandro said.
The door creaked open an inch, and a small pair of pink sneakers stepped onto the Persian rug. Emma poked her head into the room, holding her stuffed rabbit by one ear. She looked up at Aleandro, her big eyes wide and uncertain.
"Mr. Moretti?" she whispered. "Is the loud noise gone?"
Aleandro’s hard, unyielding features softened instantly. He dropped to one knee, wincing slightly as his wounded shoulder pulled against the bandage, and held out his hand.
"It's gone, Emma," Aleandro said, his voice gentle. "The monsters are all gone."
Emma walked over slowly, standing right in front of him. She looked at the empty space on the wall where the clock used to hang, then looked back down at Aleandro.
"Is the pretty lady gone too?" she asked innocently.
Aleandro placed a large, warm hand on the little girl's head, running his fingers through her dark curls.
"Yes, sweetheart," Aleandro said softly, looking out the tall window toward the grey, rising sun breaking over the Brooklyn waterfront. "She went on a very long trip. And she's never coming back."
Emma nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer. She reached into her pocket, pulled out a shiny copper penny, and pressed it firmly into Aleandro’s large palm.
"Here," Emma said seriously. "My mom says if you give someone a penny, they have to smile."
May you like
Aleandro looked down at the bright copper coin in his hand. For the first time in two years—for the first time since the blood and the betrayal had started—the corner of his mouth twitched upward into a genuine, unburdened smile.
"Thank you, Emma," Aleandro murmured, closing his fist around the coin. "I think I really needed that."
