Chapter 2 - Normal Clothes
The next morning, the Moretti estate looked as if it had been invaded by confusion.
Three drivers stood beside three black cars, not knowing which one to prepare. Two guards argued quietly about whether Mr. Moretti required a security perimeter at a preschool. A chef stood in the kitchen holding a silver tray of espresso and untouched pastry, watching the impossible happen through the service doorway.
Aleandro Moretti came downstairs wearing dark jeans, a charcoal sweater, and a coat that did not look like it belonged at a funeral.
Sophia, waiting beside Maria in the marble foyer, stared at him with both hands on her hips.
“That is almost normal,” she said.
Aleandro looked down at himself. “Almost?”
“Your shoes are too shiny.”
“They are shoes.”
“They look mean.”
Maria grabbed her daughter’s shoulders. “Sophia.”
Aleandro glanced at his shoes, then at one of the guards. “Find me less mean shoes.”
The guard froze. “Sir?”
“Now.”
Five minutes later, Aleandro Moretti stood in the foyer wearing borrowed brown boots that belonged to one of the gardeners. They were half a size too big.
Sophia approved.
Maria did not. She looked as though she had spent the entire night deciding whether to run, pray, or apologize until she lost her voice. Her gray uniform had been replaced by a simple blue dress and a cardigan, but fear clung to her more tightly than cloth.
“I still think this is a mistake,” she whispered when Sophia skipped ahead to inspect the car.
“Most important things are mistaken for mistakes at first,” Aleandro said.
Maria looked at him, startled.
He did not explain.
Marco entered through the east hallway, buttoning his coat. “Car is ready.”
Aleandro’s eyes shifted to him. “You are not coming.”
Marco’s hands paused.
“I always drive with you on public movements.”
“Not today.”
“Boss—”
“Not today.”
Sophia turned from the car. “Are you Marco?”
Marco smiled beautifully. “I am.”
“You were behind me yesterday.”
“Yes.”
“You looked at me funny.”
Maria’s head snapped toward him.
Marco’s smile did not move. “Did I?”
Sophia nodded. “Like when grown-ups know a secret.”
Aleandro said nothing.
Marco crouched slightly, placing himself at Sophia’s eye level. It was a gesture most people would find warm. Aleandro found it rehearsed.
“I know many secrets,” Marco said softly.
Sophia leaned closer. “Do you know where missing socks go?”
For the first time that morning, Maria nearly laughed.
Marco blinked. “No.”
“Then you don’t know all secrets.”
Sophia climbed into the car.
Aleandro watched Marco stand. “Cancel the day’s appointments.”
“They’re canceled.”
“Personally.”
Marco’s jaw tightened. “Already done.”
“And Vitale?”
“I told them you were unavailable.”
“What exactly did you tell them?”
Marco smiled. “That something unexpected came up.”
Aleandro held his gaze a beat too long.
Then he got into the car beside Sophia.
Maria sat in front, rigid with discomfort, while the driver pulled away from the estate. The city opened around them in silver morning light. New York moved like it always did, loud and hungry, unaware that one of its darkest men was on his way to preschool with a three-year-old girl singing about a spider climbing a water spout.
Sophia sang the song three times.
On the fourth, Aleandro joined in.
Badly.
Maria turned in her seat.
Aleandro looked out the window as if he had done nothing unusual.
Sophia giggled so hard she hiccupped.
For a few blocks, the car held something impossible.
Peace.
Then Maria’s phone buzzed.
She glanced down.
Her face changed.
Aleandro noticed. “Problem?”
“No.”
“Maria.”
She swallowed. “It is nothing.”
Sophia was busy counting yellow taxis.
Aleandro lowered his voice. “Show me.”
Maria hesitated, then passed him the phone.
The message had no name attached.
DON’T TRUST HIM. AFTER FAMILY DAY, BE READY TO LEAVE. FINAL TRIP TONIGHT.
Aleandro read it once.
Then again.
“When did these start?”
Maria stared at her hands. “Three weeks after Miguel died.”
“What do they say?”
“That Sophia and I are not safe. That my husband knew things. That if I wanted my daughter alive, I had to follow instructions.”
Aleandro’s voice went quiet. “Why did you not tell me?”
Maria looked back at him with sudden anger burning through fear. “Because men like you are usually the reason women like me receive messages like that.”
The truth landed cleanly.
Aleandro handed back the phone.
Before he could answer, Sophia pressed her face to the window and shouted, “School!”
A small brick building with painted flowers on the front windows appeared at the end of the block. Parents were gathered outside, holding coffee cups and the hands of small children.
Normal people.
Normal lives.
Aleandro stepped from the car and immediately felt every adult in front of the school become aware of him.
Sophia grabbed his hand.
“Remember,” she whispered.
“What?”
“Smile normal.”
Aleandro tried.
A father nearby took one look and moved his child behind him.
Sophia sighed. “Not like that.”
Maria almost smiled again.
But across the street, parked behind a delivery van, a man in a gray cap lifted his phone and took a picture.
Inside the Moretti estate, Marco Ricci received it.
He stared at the image of Aleandro holding Sophia’s hand.
May you like
Then he sent one message.
Move the car to the park by two.
