Chapter 7 - The Man at the Window
Sophia woke at 2:13 a.m.
Not because of thunder.
Not because of a nightmare.
Because someone was tapping on the window.
At first, she thought it was a branch. Then the tapping came again, soft and careful.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
She sat up on the small guest bed, clutching the stuffed bear Mrs. Bellini had given her. Moonlight painted the room silver. Across from her, Maria slept in a chair with her head tilted awkwardly, one hand still resting on the blanket near Sophia’s feet.
The tapping came again.
Sophia slid from the bed.
At three years old, she did not understand betrayal. She understood faces.
And the face beyond the glass belonged to Marco.
He held one finger to his lips.
Sophia did not scream.
That was what made it worse.
She walked to the window and whispered, “You’re not supposed to come nighttime.”
Marco’s eyes looked tired.
“I know.”
“Mama says nighttime is for sleeping.”
“She’s right.”
“Then go sleep.”
A broken smile touched his mouth. “I need you to wake her.”
Sophia shook her head. “Mama is tired.”
“Sophia, listen to me. You and your mother are in danger.”
She hugged the bear tighter. “Mr. Moretti said that.”
“He is the danger.”
Sophia frowned. “No. He bought sprinkles.”
Marco closed his eyes briefly, as if the statement hurt him.
“Sophia,” he said, “there are bad men coming. If you stay with him, they will use you to hurt your mama.”
“How?”
Marco looked over his shoulder toward the alley.
He was running out of time.
“Wake her.”
Sophia hesitated.
Behind her, Maria stirred. A mother’s body knew when danger had entered the room before her mind did.
“Sophia?” she murmured.
Marco disappeared from the window.
Maria sat up fully. “Baby, who are you talking to?”
Sophia pointed. “Mr. Marco.”
Maria rushed to the window.
The alley was empty.
Within seconds, the brownstone filled with quiet movement. Aleandro entered the room wearing no coat, only his sweater, phone already in hand. Two guards took positions near the stairs. Mrs. Bellini stood in the hall holding a wooden rolling pin as if it were a weapon.
Maria turned on Aleandro. “He was here.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Because I let him find us.”
Her expression hardened. “You used us?”
“I used the house. Not you.”
“That is a very thin difference.”
“It is the difference keeping you alive.”
Maria shook her head. “You sound exactly like every man who thinks the end excuses whatever he does.”
Aleandro had no defense ready.
Because she was right.
One of his men entered. “Boss. Back gate camera caught him. He left something.”
He handed Aleandro a small envelope.
Inside was a photograph.
Miguel Alvarez standing at a construction site beside a younger Marco Ricci.
On the back, written in Marco’s hand:
Ask what Miguel found under Pier 47.
Maria stared at the words.
“Pier 47?” she said.
Aleandro’s face changed.
She saw it. “What is Pier 47?”
“A place we stopped using years ago.”
“For what?”
He did not answer.
Maria stepped closer, voice low and fierce. “Do not protect me from ugly truths now.”
Aleandro looked at Sophia, who was watching them from the bed.
Then he looked back at Maria.
“Storage,” he said. “Meetings. Things that were not meant for police reports.”
Maria’s mouth tightened.
“But it has been empty for years,” he added.
“Apparently not,” she said.
By dawn, Aleandro had men watching every road near Pier 47. He had Luca pulling property records, police reports, old shipment logs. He had a private investigator searching Miguel’s last calls.
But Marco stayed one step ahead.
At 7:01 a.m., Maria’s phone received another message.
YOU HAVE UNTIL SUNSET. BRING SOPHIA TO THE STATEN ISLAND FERRY. NO MORETTI. NO POLICE. FINAL TRIP OR FINAL GOODBYE.
Maria dropped the phone.
Sophia began to cry because her mother did.
Aleandro picked up the phone and read the message.
For the first time since Maria had met him, she saw fear in his eyes.
May you like
Not for himself.
For them.
