Chapter 3 - Bloodlines and Broken Promises"Where did you get that?" Rico was out of his seat in a fraction of a second, his towering frame casting a dark shadow over Clara.
He didn't care about the restaurant anymore. He didn't care about the frozen patrons staring from their tables. He reached down and gripped Clara’s wrist, his fingers like iron bands.
"Let go of me," Clara hissed, her tired eyes suddenly flashing with a dangerous, hidden fire that caught Rico off guard. "You're hurting Leo."
Rico looked down. True to her words, the sudden motion had startled the boy again. Leo let out a low, warning growl—a sound terrifyingly similar to his father’s—and began kicking Rico’s shin with his tiny loafers.
"Basta, Leo, quiet," Rico grunted, but he loosened his grip on Clara's wrist. He stared at her face, really looking at her for the first time. Beneath the smudge of flour on her cheek and the tired shadows under her eyes, there was something painfully familiar about the curve of her jaw. "Who are you? Answer me before I tear this place apart."
"My name is Clara Vance," she said steadily, rubbing her bruised wrist. "And that locket was around my sister's neck the night she vanished. The night your associates burned down our home in Queens."
The confession hit Rico like a physical blow. The room seemed to tilt. Five years ago, a warehouse fire in Queens had wiped out a splinter cell of the Petrov syndicate. Rico had ordered the strike. But intelligence reports had stated the building was empty.
"That's impossible," Rico breathed, shaking his head. "The Petrov warehouse... there were no survivors."
"My sister survived," Clara whispered, her voice cracking with suppressed venom. "At least, long enough to give birth to the boy sitting right beside you."
Rico staggered backward, crashing slightly against the table. He looked down at Leo, who had now buried his face back into Clara’s apron, completely ignoring his biological father.
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"He's... he's not Elena's?" Rico choked out, the illusion of his entire world crumbling in seconds.
"Elena didn't die in a drive-by meant for you, Rico Moretti," Clara said, standing up slowly and looking dead into the eyes of the most feared man in the city. "She died protecting my nephew from the men you still trust."
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