Chapter 1 - The Midnight Knock
The storm broke over Chicago at midnight, tearing through the alleys with a freezing rain that turned the pavement into black glass. In the servant quarters, the draft rattled the loose windowpane, but Emma was already fast asleep, clutching her faded pink hairbrush like a talisman. Sophia, however, lay awake. Her pulse still echoed the phantom cold of Lorenzo Moretti’s voice from earlier that day. “The child does not enter the east wing at all.” It was a dismissal wrapped in an executioner's calm. She knew the rules of the Moretti household: crossed boundaries were paid for in blood or banishment. Yet, as she stared at the peeling ceiling, her mind refused to rest. The image of the terrifying mafia boss, sitting in the silence of his fortress with a child's toy in his large, scarred hand, defied everything she had heard about him.
A heavy, deliberate knock shattered the quiet. It wasn't the frantic pounding of a servant in trouble, nor the brisk rap of a lieutenant delivering a sit-rep. It was a slow, three-beat thud against the heavy oak door of the staff quarters—a sound meant to be felt before it was heard.
Sophia’s breath caught. She slipped out of bed, pulling a thin woolen shawl over her shoulders, her bare feet meeting the freezing hardwood floor. When she cracked the door open, the dim corridor light revealed Marco, the Don’s right-hand man. His tailored suit was damp from the rain, his sharp eyes devoid of any warmth, but his posture held a strange, rigid hesitation.
"Get dressed," Marco said, his voice a low, gravelly hum that barely carried over the storm outside. "The Don requires you in the study."
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"Now?" Sophia’s voice trembled despite her best efforts to steady it. "It’s past midnight. Emma is sleeping—"
"The child stays here. You come," Marco interrupted, stepping halfway into the threshold, blocking any argument. "Do not keep him waiting, Miss Carter. In this house, waiting is a luxury reserved for the dead."
