Chapter 1 - The Shadow in the MirrorThe rain outside the tinted windows of Aleandro Castellano's penthouse suite did little to wash away the heavy, suffocating silence that filled the room. For thirty-six hours, the image of a three-year-old girl named Annie had refused to leave his mind. In a world built on absolute control,
Aleandro sat at his mahogany desk, a glass of amber whiskey untouched beside him. His right hand traced the edge of a gold signet ring bearing the Castellano crest.
"Find out who lives in apartment seven on Walnut Street in Brooklyn," Aleandro said without turning around.
Standing in the shadows near the door was Marcus, his most trusted enforcer and shadow for over fifteen years. Marcus blinked, a rare flicker of hesitation crossing his rugged face. "Boss? Walnut Street? That district was written off years ago during the rezoning fallout. It’s mostly abandoned tenements and squatters."
"You heard me," Aleandro said, his voice dropping an octave, carrying the lethal chill that had made rival syndicates shudder. "I want a complete file on everyone inside that apartment by midnight. Name, medical history, utility bills, and most importantly... family ties."
Marcus nodded grimly, turning on his heel to leave. "It will be done, Boss."
As the heavy oak door clicked shut, Aleandro stood up and walked over to the floor-to-ceiling glass wall overlooking the glittering, rain-slicked expanse of Manhattan. The name the grandmother had whispered in that cold stairwell echoed in his mind like a ghost from a past he thought he had buried. Sophia.
Ten years ago, Sophia had vanished from his life under mysterious, violent circumstances—a betrayal that he had spent years hunting down, punishing every suspected traitor in his inner circle until no stone was left unturned. Or so he had thought.
If Ruth Bennett recognized him instantly, it meant she knew who he was. And if little Annie was three years old... math was a cruel, relentless judge. Sophia had disappeared roughly eleven years ago, but family bloodlines run deep. Could Annie be related to Sophia? Could there be a secret kept hidden in the shadows of Brooklyn for all these years?
Aleandro’s phone buzzed sharply on the desk. An encrypted text from his head of security flashed across the screen: Boss, we ran the initial property records for Walnut Street Apt 7. The lease isn't under Bennett. It's under an alias. And someone else is already sniffing around their building.
May you like
Aleandro’s eyes narrowed. "Who?"
The Moretti syndicate's cleanup crew.
