Chapter 5 - The First Snow
Back in Providence, the morning was crisp and clear.
In the private courtyard behind the Romano mansion, snow covered the stone fountains and marble benches. Emma, wrapped in a thick red woolen coat with a matching fur hat, was happily building a snowman near the rose garden. Her cheeks were bright pink from the cold, her small gloved hands carefully rolling a mound of snow.
Allessandro stood on the terrace, dressed in a long black overcoat, a cigar glowing between his fingers. He watched her with steady, quiet eyes.
Maria walked out onto the terrace carrying a silver tray with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate. She offered one to Allessandro.
"She has never seen snow like this," Maria said softly, her eyes shining as she watched her daughter laugh. "In our old apartment, the winter only brought cold drafts through the cracked windows and damp walls. Here... it looks like a storybook."
Allessandro took the mug, feeling the warmth seep through his leather gloves. "She belongs here, Maria."
Maria looked at the powerful man standing beside her. In the three months since the poisoning attempt, she had come to know a side of Allessandro Romano that no one else in the city saw. Beneath his terrifying reputation as a syndicate boss lay a man of profound loyalty, quiet pain, and an ironclad sense of duty.
"Mr. Romano," Maria said, her voice dropping to a gentle whisper. "I... I don't know how to thank you for everything you have done for us. Emma speaks of you constantly. She calls you her hero."
Allessandro turned his head to look at her. In the soft morning light, Maria’s dark eyes were luminous, full of genuine warmth and an emotion that made his own chest tighten in an unfamiliar way.
"She doesn't need to call me a hero, Maria," Allessandro said softly. "I am no hero. I am a man who protects what is his."
The phrase hung in the cold air between them — what is his.
Maria felt a blush rise to her cheeks, and she quickly looked down at her mug. "We are so grateful, Allessandro."
Suddenly, the heavy iron gate at the side of the courtyard opened. Marco walked quickly across the snow, his expression dark and tense. He looked at Maria, then signaled to Allessandro with a sharp nod of his head.
Allessandro set his mug on the terrace table. "Maria, take Emma inside. Now."
Maria’s smile vanished. She recognized that tone. Without asking a single question, she hurried down the terrace steps, took Emma by the hand, and led the little girl quickly toward the side entrance of the house.
Once they were inside, Allessandro turned to Marco. "What is it?"
"We picked up a wire transfer from Naples," Marco said, his voice low and urgent. "Three men arrived at Logan Airport in Boston last night using false Canadian passports. They belong to Franco’s unit — Don Carmine’s personal hit squad."
Allessandro’s posture went rigidly still. The cigar between his fingers was crushed flat. "Carmine."
"Yes, boss," Marco said grimly. "They’ve been making inquiries around the dockworkers. They aren't asking about your security routes or your warehouses, Allessandro. They’re asking about the maid and the little girl."
Allessandro looked back at the house — toward the second-floor balcony where a bright red woolen hat had just been placed on the window sill to dry.
A cold, absolute fury, more terrifying than anything Marco had ever witnessed in twenty years of service, settled over Allessandro’s face.
"They think they can use them against me," Allessandro said, his voice dropping to a whisper that sounded like grinding steel.
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"What do you want to do, boss?" Marco asked, resting his hand on his weapon. "Should I double the house guard?"
"No," Allessandro declared, stepping off the terrace and walking toward his private office. "I am not going to sit in this house and wait for Carmine’s dogs to creep through my garden. We are going to hunt them down tonight."
