Chapter 4
By midnight, the estate was plunged into a heavy, suffocating quiet. Antonio walked up the grand staircase, his mind heavy with impending turf wars. As he reached the fourth-floor landing, he noticed something that made his blood run ice-cold.
The heavy oak door of his dead son’s room was cracked open by an inch.
A pale sliver of moonlight spilled out into the dark hallway. Antonio’s heart hammered against his ribs like a caged beast. He hadn't touched that door in sixty months. Stepping forward, his boots made no sound on the runner rug as he pushed the door open with trembling fingers.
Inside, sitting cross-legged on the dust-free rug beneath the window, was Mia.
She was holding a vintage wooden train engine, turning its wheels with gentle curiosity.
“You shouldn't be in here,” Antonio’s voice was a dangerous, jagged whisper that could have sliced glass.
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Mia looked up, completely unfazed by the lethal dark aura radiating from the mafia boss. She pointed a tiny finger toward the corner of the room, where a shadow seemed to detach itself from the wall.
“The little boy said it was okay,” Mia whispered back innocently. “He said his dad needed help finding his smile.”
