Chapter 2
She couldn’t have been more than seven. Her hair was plastered to her cheeks in dark ribbons, water streaming from the ends like tiny waterfalls. Her pink jacket was faded to the color of old roses, the zipper broken, held together at the bottom by a safety pin that had begun to rust. The metal left an orange stain on the fabric. Water dripped from her chin, from her nose, from the tips of fingers that were white with cold. In her arms, she clutched something small and dark — a puppy, no more than three months old, soaked to the bone and shivering so violently it looked like it might vibrate apart.
She held the animal out to him like an offering. Like a sacrifice laid on an altar she didn’t understand.
“Please,” she whispered. Her voice barely cut through the drumming rain. “Take him. He’s all I have.”
Behind Rossetti, his men moved. Enzo’s hand went to his waistband. Vittorio shifted his weight, boots splashing in a puddle. Leather creaked. Metal clicked. The girl flinched at the sound but didn’t lower her arms. Didn’t run. Whatever was driving her was stronger than any fear her body could produce.
Rossetti raised one hand. A gesture so simple it stopped two armed men mid-reach.
He crouched down, ignoring the rain that immediately soaked through his thousand-dollar jacket. The fabric darkened from charcoal to black as water sank into it. His knees hit the wet concrete, sending a dull shock through his joints. Water seeped into his shoes, cold against his socks. He brought himself to her level, his face inches from the puppy’s wet nose, close enough to smell the damp fur and the faint sweetness of the girl’s shampoo beneath the rain.
“What do you want, *piccola*?”
She swallowed hard. Her throat moved up and down. Her lips were blue at the edges.
“I want you to save my mommy.”
May you like
The words landed like stones in still water. Rossetti didn’t blink.
“Because the good people won’t help.”
