Chapter 9 - The Secret Inside a Purple Bird
Alessandro laid Sophia's picture over a photograph Elena had pulled from the company's property records. The arched entrance matched. So did the ugly bird carved into its stonework. The Greco family called it a falcon, though Alessandro had always thought it looked more like an animal trying to escape its own shadow.
An adult might have recognized the symbol as a warning. Sophia had remembered its shape because it was strange enough to draw.
"Where did you get this?" Elena asked, arriving at his study with two coffees and a tablet full of overnight reports.
"A three-year-old drew it while twelve men argued about how to control Brooklyn."
Elena studied the paper. "You think the child has been there?"
"I think Marco recognized her before he knew why I was asking questions. And I think he might have taken her somewhere he shouldn't have."
"He's at Maria's apartment. My people are nearby."
"I know. You did the right thing sending them."
Elena's eyebrow lifted. Alessandro did not often compliment anyone at three in the morning. He noticed and almost smiled, then turned back to the photographs.
The waterfront property appeared in a series of old police reports as a shipping office with a constantly changing list of tenants. Six months earlier, Marco had requested one of Alessandro's drivers to take him there. The expense had been buried beneath routine operational reports. Alessandro hadn't noticed because, for eleven years, he'd assumed that Marco's decisions were as dependable as his own.
He felt a familiar anger building, but anger was useful only when it revealed the next move. There was a child involved. That changed the rules.
"I want a record of every meeting Marco attended with Greco representatives in the last year," he said. "Compare it with the dates our competitors knew where we'd be. Don't move against anyone until we have actual evidence."
"That's not the approach most of your men will expect."
"Then they'll learn to live with disappointment."
Elena made a note. "And tomorrow?"
"Today. It's almost four. I'll be at Maria's home by seven."
"After what's happened, you should cancel."
Alessandro looked at Sophia's crooked smiling sun. "She's three. She doesn't know who Greco is. All she knows is a man promised to take her to the park. If I start breaking promises because dangerous people exist, I might as well tell her those people make every decision in her life."
"You can't protect her with ice cream."
"No. But I can show her the people who protect her intend to keep living."
He told Elena to arrange discreet protection around the park, not a procession that would frighten children. She called a trusted contact in law enforcement to report the surveillance of Maria's building, careful to distinguish documented threats from suspicions. The investigation could not depend entirely on the Moretti family's private reach.
While Elena worked, Alessandro made a call of his own. His sister Bianca answered with the irritated voice of someone accustomed to his emergencies.
"If this is business, hang up," she said. "It's four in the morning."
"What did Pietro like to do when we were children?"
Silence. Then Bianca's tone softened. "That's a strange question."
"I'm taking a little girl to the park. I haven't done anything normal with a child in years."
"Pietro liked the carousel. He used to pretend he wasn't afraid of the big horses."
Alessandro smiled despite the hour. "I remember."
"Who is the child?"
"The daughter of someone who works here."
"And why does this sound like more than a day at the park?"
He hesitated. Bianca had spent years building a life away from the family's operations. She volunteered at a children's hospital, taught art on weekends, and occasionally reminded Alessandro that an empire was a poor substitute for a home.
"Because I realized I've become someone a mother is afraid to leave her daughter with," he said.
Bianca did not rush to reassure him. "Have you given her a reason to feel otherwise?"
"Not yet."
"Then a good beginning might be listening when she tells you what her daughter needs."
He looked again at the picture. "She already has."
After they hung up, Alessandro reviewed Elena's findings. One intercepted Greco message referred to a pending exchange, with wording that suggested Marco had been supplying information under pressure. Another indicated someone was watching the child closely enough to know her usual preschool pickup time. The detail chilled him. He had seen enemies threaten property and reputation, but treating a child as negotiable leverage was a line he refused to tolerate.
He sent Maria a single message: Elena told me there may be a security concern. You and Sophia are not alone. I will arrive at seven, but you choose whether we go out. No explanations owed.
Maria replied three minutes later: Sophia is asleep. She's counting on the park. We will talk at seven.
Alessandro set down the phone. He was grateful she hadn't asked him to explain why he'd made an exception for a stranger's child, because he wasn't certain he could answer. He only knew that for the first time in years, a future event on his calendar felt worth protecting for reasons unrelated to power.
At six fifteen, Elena returned with a fresh report. Marco had remained inside Maria's apartment. The Greco sedan had disappeared, but its driver had been identified. He was connected to a man named Matteo Greco, whose lawyer had requested a private meeting with Marco for the following afternoon.
Alessandro thought about a different kind of confrontation: an investigator asking questions in a brightly lit office, with a documented chain of evidence and no terrified family listening through a door. He'd once dismissed such procedures as weakness because they took time and denied him the satisfaction of immediate control. Looking at the crayon drawing, he found that speed no longer interested him as much as making a choice he could defend when Sophia was old enough to ask what he had done. That prospect was more demanding than any rival across a negotiating table.
"We could confront Marco now," Elena suggested.
"Not at Maria's home. Not with Sophia sleeping."
"Then when?"
May you like
Alessandro picked up the purple crayon and slipped it into his coat pocket. The wax had left a small mark against the fabric. He decided to keep it there.
"At seven," he said. "He can tell me who threatened a little girl before he tells me anything about the business."
