Chapter 5 - The Language of Silence
Morning sunlight streamed through the high, arched windows of the Blackwood Estate, casting golden geometric patterns across the hardwood floor of the master library.
Lily sat cross-legged on a thick Persian rug, completely absorbed in building a towering castle out of wooden blocks. Her small tongue peeked out between her lips in intense concentration. Beside her, Hopper the stuffed rabbit sat propped up against a stack of fairy tales.
Rosa stood by the kitchen counter, pouring hot water over loose-leaf tea. She watched through the open archway as Alessandro Moretti walked into the library.
He had changed out of his formal evening wear into a dark grey cashmere sweater and black trousers. Without his suit jacket, his broad shoulders and commanding presence seemed even more imposing, yet there was a strange, unexpected gentleness in the way he stepped carefully around Lily’s wooden blocks so as not to disturb them.
Alessandro stopped a few feet away from the little girl, crouching down to her eye level.
Lily looked up, her big brown eyes widening slightly. She didn't look afraid. Children, Rosa had noticed, possessed an uncanny instinct for who was truly dangerous and who was merely putting on a show. Lily sensed that Alessandro, despite his scars and his terrifying reputation, meant them no harm.
Alessandro raised his hands, his fingers moving with deliberate, slow grace.
Good morning, Lily, he signed.
Lily’s face lit up. She dropped a wooden block and raised her small hands, signing back enthusiastically: Good morning, Mr. Bad Man!
Rosa nearly dropped her teacup from the kitchen. She rushed toward the library doorway, her hands flying. "Lily! No! You cannot call him that! I am so sorry, Mr. Moretti, she doesn't—"
Alessandro held up a single hand, stopping Rosa in her tracks. A faint, rare smile touched the corners of his lips—a shadow of warmth that transformed his hardened face entirely.
It is accurate, Alessandro signed back to Lily, his fingers nimble. I am a very bad man.
Lily giggled silently, signing: Do you want to build the tower?
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To Rosa’s utter astonishment, the feared king of the New York underworld sat cross-legged on the Persian rug, right beside the deaf daughter of a murdered construction worker, and began carefully placing wooden blocks on top of a shaky tower.
Rosa watched them from the doorway, a heavy knot in her chest finally beginning to loosen. For the first time in eighteen months—since the day her husband was taken from her—she felt a strange, terrifying flicker of hope.
