Chapter 2 - The Boys Decided I Was Their New Favorite—Then Someone Left a Threat Beneath My Daughter’s DrawingMy first official morning at the Rinaldi mansion began with a fire alarm.
At 6:58 a.m.
I had been there for exactly four minutes.
I was standing in the foyer, holding my coat and wondering whether seven was considered “on time” in mafia households, when the alarm exploded through the house.
I jumped.
Mrs. Bellini ran down the stairs.
“Kitchen!”
“Of course.”
We rushed toward the sound.
Smoke filled the hallway.
I opened the kitchen door.
Marco stood on a chair.
Nico was holding a fire extinguisher backward.
Alessandro had a frying pan on his head.
Matteo was standing in the corner.
And somehow—
the toaster was on fire.
I stared.
Nobody moved.
I pointed at Marco.
“Why?”
He shrugged.
“Nico wanted waffles.”
“I wanted revenge.”
I looked at Nico.
“Revenge against what?”
“The waffle maker.”
I closed my eyes.
“Okay.”
I took the extinguisher.
Put out the fire.
Opened the windows.
Turned off the alarm.
Then I looked at all four boys.
“Everyone sit.”
They sat.
Immediately.
That was when I realized something.
They were not afraid of me.
They trusted me.
Maybe that was worse.
Trust was dangerous.
Especially in a house like this.
I made breakfast.
Eggs.
Toast.
Fruit.
Pancakes.
The boys ate like they hadn't been fed in weeks.
Victor entered midway through breakfast.
He stopped when he saw the table.
Marco was helping Alessandro cut his pancakes.
Nico was showing Matteo a drawing.
Matteo was actually smiling.
Victor looked at me.
“You've been here twelve minutes.”
“Eleven.”
He glanced at his watch.
“Eleven.”
I handed him coffee.
He stared at it.
“You made this?”
“Yes.”
He took a sip.
His eyes narrowed.
“Good.”
“High praise.”
His mouth twitched.
Then Matteo looked up.
“Dad.”
Victor turned.
“Can I show Serena my room?”
Victor hesitated.
I expected him to say no.
Instead:
“Yes.”
Matteo grabbed my hand.
I followed him upstairs.
His room was surprisingly neat.
Books lined one wall.
Model airplanes sat on shelves.
There were pictures everywhere.
Mostly of four boys.
And one woman.
Lucia.
Their mother.
I stopped.
Matteo looked at me.
“She was pretty.”
“Yes.”
“She smelled like oranges.”
My throat tightened.
“Do you miss her?”
He nodded.
“Every day.”
I sat beside him.
“My daughter misses her dad.”
“Does he visit?”
“Sometimes.”
“Does he make you happy?”
“No.”
Matteo thought about it.
“Then why does he come?”
I almost laughed.
“Adults are complicated.”
He frowned.
“That's what people say when they don't want to explain.”
I smiled.
“You're very observant.”
“Mom said I was.”
He looked down.
Then he pulled something from his desk.
A drawing.
A woman.
A little girl.
Four boys.
A man.
And a house.
“What is this?”
“You.”
My chest tightened.
“That's me?”
“That's us.”
He pointed.
“That is your daughter.”
My eyes filled.
“She looks happy.”
“She is.”
Matteo nodded.
“Because she's with you.”
I hugged him.
He froze.
Then slowly hugged me back.
I closed my eyes.
For one second, I forgot about money.
Court.
Daniel.
Everything.
Then I noticed something strange.
Under the drawing was a sheet of black paper.
I picked it up.
A message had been written in white.
THE LAST WOMAN WHO STAYED DIED.
My blood went cold.
“Who wrote this?”
Matteo looked at it.
“I don't know.”
Victor appeared in the doorway.
“What is it?”
I handed him the paper.
His entire expression changed.
The warmth disappeared.
“Who found this?”
“Matteo.”
“When?”
“This morning.”
Victor looked toward the security camera.
Then at the door.
Then at me.
“Everyone out.”
I took Matteo's hand.
We left.
Within minutes, the mansion became a fortress.
Security guards appeared.
Phones rang.
Doors locked.
Victor ordered cameras checked.
I stood beside Mrs. Bellini.
“What does it mean?”
She whispered,
“Someone has been threatening the family.”
“How long?”
“Since Lucia died.”
My stomach tightened.
“What happened to his wife?”
Mrs. Bellini shook her head.
“No one knows.”
“What do you mean?”
“She died in a car accident.”
“Was it an accident?”
She looked at me.
“No one is sure.”
Victor approached.
“Serena.”
I turned.
“Did you know about the threats?”
“No.”
“Don't lie.”
“I didn't.”
He stared at me.
Then his phone rang.
He answered.
“Rinaldi.”
A pause.
His expression changed.
“Lock the eastern gate.”
He hung up.
“What happened?”
“Your apartment.”
My heart stopped.
“What about it?”
“There was a man outside.”
“Daniel?”
“No.”
Victor turned to one of his men.
“Bring her daughter here.”
I froze.
“No.”
He looked at me.
“Your apartment is compromised.”
“You don't know that.”
“I do.”
“I need to get Lucia.”
“She'll be safer here.”
My chest tightened.
“You can't just—”
“I can.”
His voice was calm.
“I'm not asking.”
I stared at him.
For a second, anger overrode fear.
“My daughter is not property.”
“I know.”
“Then don't make decisions for her.”
His expression softened slightly.
“I'm trying to keep her alive.”
I stopped.
“Why would she be in danger?”
His silence answered me.
“Because someone is watching you.”
I felt cold.
“Since when?”
“Before you arrived.”
I looked at the boys.
“Why?”
Victor shook his head.
“I don't know.”
That was the first time I saw fear in him.
Not for himself.
For his children.
He ordered a car.
Within an hour, Lucia was brought to the mansion.
She held my hand tightly.
She looked around.
“Mom, this house is huge.”
“I know.”
“Are these the boys?”
Marco appeared.
“She's little.”
Lucia looked offended.
“I'm five.”
“I'm eight.”
“That isn't very old.”
Marco looked stunned.
Nico laughed.
Alessandro applauded.
Matteo smiled.
Victor watched from across the room.
Lucia looked at him.
“Are you their dad?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have a mommy?”
The room froze.
Victor knelt.
“She passed away.”
Lucia looked sad.
“I'm sorry.”
Victor nodded.
“Thank you.”
She hugged him.
I almost stopped breathing.
Victor seemed equally shocked.
He looked at me.
I shrugged.
“She's affectionate.”
He stood.
“Apparently.”
That evening, Lucia fell asleep on the sofa between the boys.
Victor watched them.
“They've never done that.”
“Children don't always need fixing.”
“What do they need?”
“Someone who stays.”
His eyes met mine.
“You think that's what they need?”
“I know.”
Later that night, after I put Lucia in the guest room, I returned downstairs.
Victor was sitting alone.
He had a photograph of his wife in his hand.
“She trusted me,” he said.
I didn't ask what he meant.
He continued.
“I promised I'd keep them safe.”
“You did.”
“Then why did she die?”
I sat across from him.
“I don't know.”
“Exactly.”
I looked at the photograph.
“Was she happy?”
“With me?”
“Yes.”
He smiled faintly.
“Sometimes.”
“That sounds honest.”
“It is.”
We sat in silence.
Then he asked,
“Why did you leave your husband?”
I looked at him.
“You ask personal questions quickly.”
“I don't have time for games.”
“Neither do I.”
I took a breath.
“Daniel was controlling.”
Victor's face hardened.
“He hurt you?”
“Not physically.”
He relaxed slightly.
“He used money.”
“Against you?”
“Yes.”
“Your daughter?”
“Yes.”
Victor set down the photograph.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“I met you yesterday.”
“That doesn't answer the question.”
“Because people like you solve problems with power.”
His eyes narrowed.
“And you don't like power.”
“I don't like having no control over what happens to me.”
He considered that.
Then said,
“Fair.”
I smiled.
“You're unexpectedly reasonable.”
“Don't tell anyone.”
I laughed.
It was the first time I saw him genuinely smile.
And it changed the way I saw him.
He wasn't just a feared man.
He was a tired one.
A father.
A widower.
A man who had been carrying too much for too long.
Then a security alarm sounded.
Victor stood.
A guard rushed in.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“We found a phone in the guest room.”
“Whose?”
The guard looked at me.
“Serena's.”
My heart dropped.
“What?”
“I left mine upstairs.”
The guard shook his head.
“This isn't your phone.”
He handed Victor a black device.
Victor opened it.
A photograph appeared.
My apartment.
Lucia's bedroom.
Taken from outside the window.
I stopped breathing.
Victor looked at me.
“I told you.”
I whispered,
“Someone is watching me.”
He nodded.
“And now they're watching your daughter.”
The device buzzed.
A message appeared.
TOMORROW, SHE WILL BE ALONE.
Victor's face turned lethal.
“Not anymore.”
He looked at me.
“You and Lucia stay here.”
“Victor—”
“I am done asking.”
Then his gaze shifted toward the four boys sleeping on the sofa.
Something in his face changed.
He wasn't just protecting his children now.
He was protecting me too.
May you like
And whoever was watching us had just made a mistake.
Because Victor Rinaldi had finally become personally involved.
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