Chapter 3 - The Playground Jurisdiction
St. Jude’s Preschool was a modest, brick-faced building nestled in a quiet corner of Queens, far away from the flashing neon lights of Manhattan and the brutal docks of Brooklyn.
When Aleandro’s SUV pulled up to the curb, two plainclothes Moretti enforcers disguised as postal workers were already stationed across the street, while Marco parked the vehicle around the back near the alleyway.
Sophia practically dragged Aleandro out of the car, her yellow dress swishing around her knees.
"Come on! We're late for morning circle!" she squealed, pulling his hand with all her might.
Aleandro allowed himself to be led through the wrought-iron gates into a sunlit courtyard filled with twenty-five screaming, running children and a dozen harried teachers. The moment the other parents and teachers noticed the tall, striking man in the charcoal sweater walking hand-in-hand with little Sophia Alvarez, the courtyard went dead silent.
Mothers whispering over coffee cups froze. Teachers stopped organizing the art supplies.
They didn't know he was Aleandro Moretti, the king of the New York underworld. But human instinct recognizes apex predators instantly. Even in jeans and sneakers, Aleandro radiated an aura of absolute dominance that made people instinctively step aside.
Except for one kindergarten teacher named Mrs. Gable, who marched over with a bright, clipboard-wielding smile.
"Good morning! Welcome to Family Day at St. Jude’s," Mrs. Gable chirped, looking up at Aleandro. "And you must be...?"
"Aleandro," he said, his voice deep and smooth.
"Well, Aleandro, it’s wonderful to have you! Sophia has been talking about her special guest all week." Mrs. Gable knelt down to Sophia. "Is this your daddy, sweetie?"
Sophia puffed out her chest proudly. "He’s my borrowed daddy! He knows how to be in charge, and he has dollars for strawberry ice cream!"
Mrs. Gable laughed, assuming it was a cute kid joke. "Wonderful! Well, morning circle is starting in the sandbox. Daddies, please take a seat on the benches."
For the next two hours, the most feared man in New York City sat cross-legged in a sandbox surrounded by toddlers throwing plastic shovels of sand, listening intently as a teacher explained the life cycle of a caterpillar. He didn't check his watch once. When a little boy named Timmy accidentally kicked sand onto Aleandro’s clean white sneakers, Aleandro simply brushed it off without a word, much to the horror of an enforcer watching from the fence line.
Then came the highlight of Sophia’s day: the playground swings.
Sophia ran toward the green rubber swing set, scrambling onto the seat. "Push me! Push me until I touch the sky!"
Aleandro walked over behind her. He placed his tattooed, weathered hands against her small back. For a brief moment, he hesitated—fearing his strength might be too much, that the hands accustomed to holding pistols and signing death warrants might break something so fragile.
Then Sophia giggled, kicking her pink sneakers into the air.
"Push, borrowed daddy!"
Aleandro pushed.
Gently at first, then a little higher as Sophia squealed with delight. The wind caught her pigtails, and her joyful laughter echoed across the schoolyard.
Sitting on a concrete bench thirty yards away, hidden behind dark sunglasses, Marco Ricci watched the scene unfold. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, reading a text message from an unknown number: Perimeter secured. Warehouse on 4th Street ready for transfer. Target is isolated.
Marco stared at the screen, then looked back at Aleandro, who was currently smiling—a genuine, unguarded smile—as he caught Sophia on the downswing.
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A dark, dangerous ambition flared in Marco’s mind. For ten years, he had been the number two. He had done the dirty work while Aleandro sat on the throne. But lately, Aleandro had grown soft. He was taking risks over a dead worker's child. If Aleandro was distracted, if Aleandro could be removed from the picture cleanly, the Moretti empire would fall directly into Marco’s hands.
"Enjoy the swing, Boss," Marco whispered to himself, sliding his phone back into his pocket. "It's the last ride you'll ever take."
