THE MAFIA BOSS WHO PROMISED A LITTLE GIRL THE SKY

Alessandro had survived an ambush, three hostile takeovers, and a business partner who once attempted to poison him at dinner. None of those experiences had prepared him to negotiate with a child who wanted to know why his conference chairs were taller than her kitchen table.

"Because grown-ups enjoy pretending they're important," he answered.

Sophia accepted this with a nod. "My teacher says everybody is important. Even worms."

"Your teacher sounds wiser than my associates."

Maria stood near the door, uncertain whether leaving would offend him or staying would be worse. She kept one hand around Sophia's shoulder. The room smelled of coffee, expensive leather, and the rain blowing against the windows. She could still see the folder beneath Alessandro's palm. A single wrong word might remind him that her daughter had wandered into a meeting where ordinary rules did not apply.

"Why is your mama frightened?" Alessandro asked Sophia.

"She thinks rich people fire everybody," Sophia replied.

Maria felt her face burn. "Sophia."

"That's what Aunt Rosa said."

Alessandro's gaze shifted to Maria. "Your sister?"

"She's been ill. I usually leave Sophia with her while I work, but an ambulance took Rosa to the hospital this afternoon. I tried to call the agency. Nobody answered." Maria straightened despite the tremor in her knees. "I should have told your house manager. I understand if you want me to go."

"My house manager would have sent you away."

"Probably."

"Then perhaps I hired the wrong house manager."

Maria blinked. She had never heard an employer admit something so plainly. It made him more unsettling, not less.

Sophia had wandered toward the tall chair at the table's end. Before Maria could stop her, the little girl began climbing into it. Alessandro stood, lifted the folder and the remaining objects beyond her reach, and slid the chair back so she could sit safely. Sophia placed her purple crayon against a sheet of blank paper he offered her.

"No drawing on furniture," Maria warned.

"I'm making him a present."

"He doesn't need a present."

"Everybody needs presents, Mama."

Alessandro leaned against the table and watched her draw. Long ago, before his father's death and the family obligations that followed it, he had wanted to become an architect. He still remembered sketching bridges on napkins in restaurants while his younger brother Pietro teased him for imagining a future they were unlikely to have. Pietro had died at sixteen, caught between adults who had sworn they were protecting the family.

Nobody in the Moretti house mentioned those drawings anymore.

"What's that?" he asked as Sophia added a curved line beneath a crooked smiling face.

"A building."

"A very tall building?"

"No. The scary one. The one with the bird over the door."

Maria's hand tightened against the back of the chair. Sophia had never mentioned a scary building to her. She opened her mouth to ask where the child had seen it, but Alessandro was studying the drawing with mild curiosity rather than concern.

"Birds are usually good signs," he offered.

"Not that bird. It looked angry."

"Perhaps it had a difficult morning."

Sophia laughed. Maria didn't. The drawing looked harmless enough—purple loops, uneven windows, a symbol like a crooked bird—but she was suddenly remembering a Tuesday six months earlier when Marco Ricci had offered to watch Sophia for an hour while Maria accompanied Rosa to a medical appointment. He had returned the child with an expensive cookie and no explanation for the dust on her shoes.

Had Sophia been somewhere she shouldn't have been?

"Miss Alvarez?" Alessandro asked. "You're very pale."

"It's been a long day."

He considered her answer. "Sit down."

"I prefer to stand."

"That wasn't an order," he said. "There are chairs. You're allowed to use them."

She sat in the one nearest the door. Sophia continued drawing, humming a song about rainbows and purple dinosaurs. Alessandro pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket and wiped a purple streak off the polished wood before it reached the edge. The casual act was so unexpected that Maria nearly smiled.

"Why do you have so many people in here?" Sophia asked.

"We were solving a problem."

"Did you solve it?"

"Not yet."

She pushed the paper toward him. "Maybe you should use purple. Red is too angry."

He glanced at the map. Red circles marked the neighborhood where a rival organization planned to move against his warehouses that weekend. Sophia wasn't wrong about the color.

His phone buzzed. Marco's name appeared on the screen, followed by a short message: Bianchi is demanding confirmation. Greco people are asking questions. We need to finish tonight.

Alessandro turned the phone facedown.

"Work?" Sophia asked knowingly.

"Unfortunately."

"Mama says work eats all the hours."

"Your mother is observant."

Maria met his eyes for the first time without immediately looking away. She saw tiredness beneath his composure, the kind that came from years spent expecting every kindness to carry a price. Her own exhaustion was different, but she recognized the shape of it.

"You can say no to her," Maria said. "Whatever she wants, you don't owe us anything."

Sophia's smile faltered. "Mama, you said asking nicely was okay."

"It is, sweetheart."

"Then let me ask."

Alessandro pulled another chair closer, positioning himself opposite her. "Go ahead. You have my full attention."

The door opened briefly when a young member of the house staff arrived with water. Maria recognized him from the laundry room. He glanced at Sophia, then at Alessandro, and looked ready to apologize for something that wasn't his fault. Alessandro accepted the water, thanked him by name, and sent him away. The gesture was small, but Maria noticed it. In her experience, powerful men remembered employees' names only when they had a complaint. Yet Alessandro seemed to know this worker's name and the fact that he was studying for a nursing qualification. She wasn't foolish enough to confuse one polite exchange with goodness. She was simply trying to understand the contradictions in the man facing her.

Sophia pushed the drawing closer to him. "Can I put a purple window in your house?"

"Only if it opens," Alessandro replied. "Every room should have a way to let fresh air in."

In the hallway beyond the closed door, Marco stood motionless with his phone in his hand. Through the frosted glass, he could see the bright shape of Sophia's yellow dress and Alessandro leaning toward her. He typed a message to a number with no saved name, erased it, then typed again.