Chapter 2 - The Shadows of Mulberry Street
The rain fell on Mulberry Street in heavy, deliberate sheets, blurring the glowing neon signs of Little Italy into smears of red and gold.
Adrian Moretti stood in the dark interior of a customized, armored SUV parked three blocks away from Sarah’s apartment complex. His shoulder burned where Dr. Maren’s stitches strained against his tailored black suit coat, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the violent, chaotic hammering inside his ribcage.
Arrhythmogenic cardiomyopathy.
The doctor’s diagnosis echoed in his head with every pulse in his neck. His body was a time bomb. He was a man who had built an empire out of control—controlling politicians, controlling docks, controlling men with guns—yet he couldn’t control the microscopic electrical pathways of his own heart.
"Perimeter is clear, boss," Vincent murmured from the front passenger seat, adjusting his earbud. "We’ve got eight men stationed on the surrounding roofs. Three vehicles circling the block. Sarah knows we're coming. She... she was quiet when I called her, Adrian. But she didn't say no."
Adrian adjusted his cufflinks, his fingers steady despite the turmoil inside. "And Lily?"
"She’s awake. Sarah said she’s sitting on the living room rug, drawing."
Drawing a man with no face.
The memory of Vincent’s words from the hospital room cut deeper than any blade. For three years, Adrian had convinced himself that his absence was an act of profound selflessness. In the underworld of New York, love was a bullseye painted on the back of anyone close to you. Dimitri Volkov, his ruthless rival who had taken over the Russian syndicate’s northern operations, was currently sweeping through the city like a scythe, looking for any weakness to tear the Moretti family apart.
If Volkov knew Lily existed, he wouldn't just kidnap her—he would use her to destroy Adrian piece by piece.
"We move now," Adrian commanded, his voice cold and resolute as he opened the SUV door.
He stepped into the rain, six tall men in dark overcoats instantly falling into formation around him. The air smelled of wet asphalt and hot street food, but to Adrian, it smelled like danger. Every shadow in an alleyway felt like an armed assassin; every passing car felt like a drive-by waiting to happen.
They breached the apartment building's side entrance quietly, taking the service elevator up to the fifth floor. When the metal doors slid open, two of Adrian's guards stepped out first, weapons drawn low under their heavy coats, sweeping the hallway before signaling the all-clear.
Adrian stood before Apartment 5B. His hand hovered over the wooden door frame. He had ordered killings with a flick of his wrist. He had negotiated multi-million-dollar deals with corrupt senators without breaking a sweat. Yet now, facing a thin piece of oak, his hand shook violently.
He knocked. Three soft, deliberate raps.
The lock clicked. The door opened slowly, revealing Sarah.
She looked tired. Shadows lingered under her pale green eyes, and her dark hair was pulled back into a loose, messy bun. When she looked at Adrian—taking in his pale face, the stiffness in his left shoulder, and the sheer weight of authority surrounding him—her breath hitched.
"Adrian," she whispered, her voice a mix of lingering affection, deep-seated grief, and sheer terror.
"Sarah," he replied softly, stepping over the threshold as his men seamlessly took up defensive positions in the hallway outside, shutting the door behind him. "You look tired."
"I’m tired because I’ve been raising our daughter alone while worrying every time I see a news report about a shooting downtown," she snapped quietly, stepping back to let him enter. "I heard what happened on Mulberry Street. You almost died."
"I didn't."
"This time," she countered, her voice trembling. "What are you doing here, Adrian? You swore you’d stay away. You swore that as long as you were in this life, we didn't exist."
"I was wrong," Adrian said simply. He walked deeper into the warm, scented air of the small apartment. "I thought staying away was protecting her. But a bullet reminded me that life doesn't negotiate. If I die tomorrow, Sarah... she won't even know who held her when she was born."
Sarah covered her mouth with her hand, fighting back tears. Before she could answer, a small, tiny voice floated out from the adjoining hallway.
"Mommy? Who is the big man?"
Adrian froze. His entire body turned rigid.
A little girl stood at the edge of the hallway carpet, clutching a worn brown teddy bear by its ear. She wore pink pajamas patterned with tiny yellow stars. Her dark curly hair was identical to his own, and her large, curious hazel eyes looked directly into his soul.
May you like
Lily.
For the first time in thirty-four years, Adrian Moretti felt completely, utterly powerless.
