Chapter 1 - The Plastic Tea Party
The small pink chair groaned under Dante Moretti’s two hundred pounds of solid muscle.
His long legs were bent awkwardly toward his chest, his knees nearly brushing the edge of the tiny plastic play table.
Sitting across from him was a floppy-eared stuffed rabbit with one missing button eye, staring blankly past his shoulder.
Sophie smoothed the skirt of her duck pajamas with both hands before picking up the empty pink teapot.
She carefully poured air into two miniature plastic cups, making realistic bubbling noises with her mouth.
"Careful," Sophie warned, handing him a cup with intense seriousness. "It's boiling hot mint tea. You have to blow on it three times."
Dante looked down at the empty plastic toy resting between his calloused, scarred fingers.
The last time someone had offered him tea, it had been laced with arsenic in a warehouse outside Palermo.
Yet he lifted the tiny toy cup to his lips, blew on it three times with complete gravity, and took a polite sip of nothing.
"Delicious," Dante said, his voice deep and rough against the quiet nursery walls.
Sophie beamed, bouncing on her chair.
"Mr. Rabbit thinks so too," she whispered, leaning over the table. "He says you look less grumpy now."
Dante tilted his head, watching the child.
In the dim light of the nightstand lamp, the curve of her jaw and the stubborn tilt of her chin seemed achingly familiar.
"Mr. Rabbit talks too much," Dante replied, setting down the plastic cup.
"Mr. Moretti?"
Anna’s breathless voice came from the open doorway.
She stood there in her faded cardigan, her face pale with terror as she took in the sight of the most feared syndicate boss in New England sitting at a child's toy table.
"Sophie, sweetheart, you must not bother Mr. Moretti," Anna pleaded, stepping into the room with trembling hands.
"She invited me for tea, Miss Miller," Dante said smoothly, rising to his full height with terrifying grace.
Anna lowered her eyes immediately, keeping her posture deferent and humble.
"I apologize, sir. I put her to bed an hour ago. She shouldn't be disturbing your rest."
"She isn't disturbing anything," Dante said, pausing as his eyes caught a small folded strip of colored paper lying beside Sophie’s pillow.
It was a strip of translucent paper, folded into a puffy, five-pointed origami star with tiny, handwritten numbers scribbled across the creases.
"What is that?" Dante asked, pointing his chin toward the paper star.
Sophie picked it up eagerly, holding it out in her small palm.
"Mama makes them every night," Sophie chirped. "She folds a wish into every single one so the bad men in the dark can't find us."
Anna’s breath hitched sharply.
She reached out and snatched the paper star from Sophie’s hand, tucking it into her apron with frantic haste.
"It's just an old superstition from my home village in Vermont, Mr. Moretti," Anna stammered, avoiding his searching gaze. "Nothing of importance."
Dante didn't press the question, but his sharp eyes caught the sudden tremble in Anna’s fingers.
As he stepped out into the quiet second-floor corridor, he pulled his phone from his breast pocket and dialed his head of private intelligence.
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"Leo," Dante said into the receiver, his voice dropping into a razor-sharp whisper.
"Find every employment record, birth certificate, and police file on Anna Miller from Cambridge to Burlington. I want to know who she is running from."
