Chapter 3 - WHAT SOPHIE’S MOTHER KNEW
Roman did not sleep.
Emma knew because she didn’t either.
At four in the morning she stood in the enormous guest kitchen wearing borrowed sweatpants and one of Rosa’s sweaters, making cinnamon toast because fear made her hungry.
The mansion had gone quiet.
One attacker had escaped.
One had been captured.
Three members of Roman’s security team were injured.
And somewhere inside the house—or connected closely enough to it—was a traitor.
Emma spread butter across a slice of bread.
“You use too much cinnamon.”
She nearly dropped the knife.
Roman stood in the doorway.
His tie was gone.
His sleeves were rolled.
For the first time, he looked less like a criminal king and more like a man who had been awake too long.
“You sneak quietly.”
“It’s my house.”
“Still rude.”
He approached the counter.
Emma slid a plate toward him.
“Eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“That wasn’t a question.”
His eyebrow lifted.
“No one tells me what to do in my kitchen.”
“Then starve dramatically somewhere else.”
Roman stared at her.
Then, surprisingly, took the toast.
Emma turned away to hide her smile.
For a while, they ate in silence.
Finally she asked, “What did Sophie’s mother see?”
Roman stopped chewing.
“You heard him.”
“I heard him mention Elena.”
“That is all you need to know.”
Emma put down her plate.
“You brought armed people into the same building as me twice in one night.”
“I did not bring them.”
“You know what I mean.”
Roman’s jaw tightened.
“You want honesty?”
“Yes.”
“It could endanger you.”
“I got a death threat before sunrise. I think we passed danger several exits ago.”
He looked at her for a long moment.
Then he walked to the windows overlooking the dark river.
“Elena was not born into my world.”
“Neither was I.”
“No.”
His tone carried something unreadable.
“She was studying architecture when I met her.”
Emma leaned against the counter.
“She knew who you were?”
“Eventually.”
“And stayed?”
Roman’s gaze remained outside.
“For a while.”
The words landed heavily.
“What happened?”
“I happened.”
Emma said nothing.
Roman continued.
“I was thirty. Arrogant. Violent. Convinced control was the same thing as protection.”
“Were you wrong?”
He looked back at her.
“Yes.”
Emma had not expected the answer.
“Elena hated my business. She tolerated pieces of it because she believed I could change.”
“Could you?”
“I didn’t.”
“Until she died.”
Roman’s expression hardened.
“After she died, I moved most of my money into legitimate businesses. Shipping. Construction. Real estate.”
“Most?”
A humorless smile.
“I am not a saint, Emma.”
“I noticed the machine guns.”
He looked toward the floor.
“The police ruled Elena’s death an accident. Wet road. Brake failure.”
“But you don’t believe that anymore.”
Roman turned.
“I believed it because believing it was easier.”
Emma’s chest tightened.
“Sophie was in the car.”
“Yes.”
“Did she see anything?”
“She was four.”
“Four-year-olds see things.”
“She could not speak after the accident.”
Emma frowned.
“Trauma?”
Roman nodded.
“She lost her hearing from head injuries. She also stopped using spoken language completely. Doctors said it could be neurological or psychological.”
“Did she sign then?”
“Not at first.”
Roman’s voice softened.
“I learned. Rosa learned. Staff learned. Eventually Sophie did too.”
“And she never told you anything about the crash?”
“No.”
Emma thought about the child in the bakery.
Hands moving.
I am waiting.
I am not afraid.
“What if nobody asked the right way?”
Roman’s eyes sharpened.
Emma continued.
“Children don’t tell stories the way adults do. Especially trauma.”
“Dr. Abrams questioned her.”
“Doctors question children differently than mothers do.”
“You think you can get something from her?”
“No.”
Roman frowned.
Emma shook her head.
“I think Sophie might give something if she feels safe enough.”
“Safe.”
Roman laughed quietly.
“Look around.”
“That isn’t safety.”
He stared.
“This is security. Safety is different.”
Roman said nothing.
Emma picked up another piece of toast.
“She trusts you.”
“She doesn’t tell me everything.”
“Maybe because you react like someone insulted God whenever she gets a bruise.”
“That is not—”
“She notices.”
Roman fell silent.
Emma smiled slightly.
“Kids notice everything.”
Roman looked toward the ceiling, as if Sophie might somehow hear them through two floors.
“What do you suggest?”
“Don’t interrogate her.”
“I don’t interrogate my daughter.”
“You interrogate toast.”
His mouth twitched.
“Let her play. Let her remember.”
Roman nodded slowly.
“Tomorrow.”
“Today.”
He glanced at the clock.
Five seventeen.
“Fine.”
Emma pushed the plate toward him.
“Another.”
He obeyed.
That was how Marco found them.
He stopped in the doorway.
His gaze moved from Roman eating cinnamon toast to Emma holding the knife.
Something like disbelief crossed his face.
“Boss.”
Roman immediately returned to command.
“What?”
“We identified the man from the attic.”
“And?”
“Victor Salerno.”
Roman’s face changed.
“You know him?”
“His brother worked for the Bellandi crew.”
Marco nodded.
“Victor disappeared five years ago. The Bellandis reported him dead.”
“Apparently prematurely.”
“And there’s more.”
Marco glanced at Emma.
Roman said, “Speak.”
Marco placed a tablet on the counter.
Security images appeared.
A gray sedan.
A man entering a parking structure.
A red bird tattoo on his hand.
Emma leaned closer.
“That’s Sophie’s description.”
Marco tapped the screen.
“The tattoo belongs to a group called the Red Cardinals.”
Emma looked at Roman.
“That sounds like either a church choir or people I should avoid.”
“The second,” Marco said.
Roman remained focused.
“Mercenaries?”
“Formerly.”
“Formerly?”
“They disappeared after Elena’s death.”
Roman went still.
Emma’s stomach tightened.
Marco continued.
“Roman, these men were active eight years ago. Contract surveillance, extraction, intimidation. Whoever hired them had serious money.”
“And now?”
“Someone brought them back.”
Roman stared at the screen.
“To take Sophie.”
Marco nodded.
Emma looked at him.
“Why?”
Neither man answered.
Then a small figure appeared in the kitchen doorway.
Sophie.
Her hair was messy.
She wore pajamas covered in tiny rabbits.
Roman crossed the room immediately.
“What are you doing awake?”
Nightmare.
He crouched.
Want to tell me?
Sophie shook her head.
Emma came closer.
“Want cinnamon toast?”
Immediate nod.
Roman looked betrayed.
“You refused soup.”
Sophie ignored him.
Emma prepared toast.
Sophie sat at the island.
Roman and Marco exchanged glances.
Emma recognized it.
They wanted answers.
She subtly shook her head.
Not yet.
Sophie ate.
Slowly.
Then noticed Marco’s tablet.
She pointed.
Gray car.
Everyone froze.
Roman sat beside her.
You remember?
Sophie nodded.
Emma moved closer but kept her expression calm.
Sophie pointed to the tattoo.
Bird man.
Roman’s hands moved.
Was he there when Mommy crashed?
Sophie stopped.
Her face emptied.
Emma’s heart sank.
Roman realized immediately.
Too much.
He reached for her.
It’s okay.
Sophie pushed his hand away.
Then she looked at Emma.
Her fingers trembled.
Mommy saw bird man before.
Emma crouched beside her.
Where?
Sophie struggled.
She closed her eyes.
Then signed slowly.
At Papa’s party.
Roman’s face changed.
“What party?”
Sophie looked toward him.
Mommy was angry.
“When?”
No answer.
Emma signed.
What did Mommy do?
Sophie’s breathing accelerated.
Roman looked ready to stop everything.
Emma touched his wrist.
Wait.
Sophie continued.
Mommy hid papers.
Marco whispered, “Papers?”
Roman’s face went pale.
“Where?”
Sophie looked around.
Then signed:
Rabbit.
Emma followed her gaze.
Rabbit decorations.
Rabbit pajamas.
Stuffed rabbits.
Roman looked confused.
“What rabbit?”
Sophie suddenly slid from the chair.
She ran.
Roman followed.
They reached her bedroom.
Sophie climbed onto the bed and grabbed the oldest stuffed rabbit from the shelf.
Its white fur had faded gray.
One ear was stitched.
She handed it to Emma.
Inside.
Emma examined it.
A zipper was hidden beneath the stitched ear.
Roman stared.
“I’ve seen that toy every day for seven years.”
Emma opened it.
Stuffing.
Nothing.
Then her fingers touched something hard.
She pulled out a tiny brass key.
Roman stopped breathing.
Marco cursed quietly.
Sophie signed.
Mommy said rabbit keeps secrets.
Roman took the key.
His hands were shaking.
Emma had never imagined Roman DeLuca’s hands could shake.
“What does it open?” Marco asked.
Roman stared at it.
“I don’t know.”
Sophie tugged his sleeve.
Office.
Roman looked at her.
“What office?”
Mommy’s.
Rosa arrived behind them.
Her face went white.
“Elena’s drafting room.”
Roman turned.
“It was sealed after the funeral.”
Rosa nodded.
“You told us not to touch it.”
Roman moved.
Fast.
They followed him to the west wing.
At the end of a quiet hallway stood a locked door.
Roman inserted the key.
It didn’t fit.
Marco frowned.
“Maybe a cabinet?”
They entered.
Dust covered everything.
Architectural sketches remained pinned to the walls.
A half-finished model of a waterfront building sat beneath plastic.
Photographs.
Books.
Elena DeLuca’s life frozen exactly where death had interrupted it.
Roman stopped near the desk.
Emma watched grief strike him physically.
He touched a pencil.
“Elena sharpened these with a knife.”
Emma said nothing.
Sophie walked directly to the wall.
She pointed toward a framed blueprint.
Rabbit.
In one corner of the blueprint was a tiny rabbit drawn in pencil.
Roman removed the frame.
Behind it was a small steel box.
The brass key fit.
Marco drew his gun instinctively.
Roman opened it.
Inside were photographs.
Bank statements.
A flash drive.
And a sealed envelope.
Roman’s name was written across the front.
His face changed.
He opened it.
Emma looked away.
But Roman read aloud.
“If something happens to me, do not trust the person who tells you it was an accident.”
Marco stiffened.
Roman continued.
“The Red Cardinals are real. They are being paid through DeLuca accounts.”
Silence.
Roman stopped reading.
Marco whispered, “What?”
Roman’s face drained of color.
Emma stepped closer.
He continued.
“I followed the payments because someone is moving money through your companies without your knowledge. Roman, this is not an outside enemy.”
His hands tightened around the page.
“It is family.”
Sophie stared at him.
Emma’s heart pounded.
Roman read the final line.
“And if I am dead when you find this, protect Sophie from your brother.”
No one moved.
Emma looked at Roman.
“Your brother?”
Roman’s eyes lifted.
There was no confusion in them.
Only devastation.
“My brother died four years ago.”
Marco whispered, “Antonio.”
Roman looked at the letter again.
“No.”
His voice became almost inaudible.
“Antonio died six months before Elena.”
And somewhere inside the silent mansion, a phone began to ring.
Marco answered.
Listened.
Then slowly lowered it.
“Boss.”
Roman looked up.
“That was the gate.”
“What?”
Marco’s face had gone gray.
“A visitor just arrived.”
“At six in the morning?”
“He gave the guard a name.”
Roman’s expression hardened.
“What name?”
May you like
Marco swallowed.
“Antonio DeLuca.”
