Chapter 3 - The Boy With The Wooden Bird
I stood frozen in the open doorway.
The wind howled around the massive stone pillars of the Russo estate, but all I could hear was the ragged, shivering breath of the little boy in front of me.
“The man with the silver medal,” I repeated softly.
The boy nodded once. He gripped the wooden bird so tightly his small knuckles were white.
I looked down at my own hand. My fingers were still wrapped around Rosa Russo’s scorched blue apron. Deep inside my other apron pocket was the silver medal Matteo had just dropped onto the table—no, wait, Matteo still had the medal.
I quickly knelt down to the boy’s eye level.
“What is your name, sweetheart?” I asked, keeping my voice as gentle as possible.
“Leo,” he whispered.
“Okay, Leo. You’re freezing. Come inside.”
I took his small, icy hand and pulled him into the warm foyer. I quickly shut the heavy oak doors, cutting off the storm.
I stripped off his soaking wet corduroy jacket. Underneath, he wore a thin, worn-out sweater. I immediately unbuttoned my own uniform cardigan and wrapped it around his small shoulders.
“Where is your mom, Leo?” I asked.
Tears welled up in his dark eyes, but he didn't cry. He looked like a child who had been taught that crying was dangerous.
“She told me to run,” Leo said, his voice trembling. “The men in the black cars came to our apartment. She pushed me out the fire escape. She said to come to this address and not talk to anyone unless they had the silver medal.”
My blood ran cold. Men in black cars.
I knew I couldn't keep him in the foyer. If whoever chased him was outside, he wasn't safe. And if Celeste saw him...
“Hannah?”
A deep voice echoed from the hallway.
Matteo.
He walked into the foyer, his face still a mask of rigid, contained fury from his confrontation in the dining room.
He stopped dead when he saw the boy.
Leo looked up at the towering, broad-shouldered mafia boss. He instinctively took a step back, hiding slightly behind my leg.
Matteo didn't move. His eyes locked onto Leo’s face.
For a man who controlled half the city, Matteo Russo looked completely stripped of his armor in that singular moment. He saw the dark hair. The familiar jawline. The eyes that mirrored his own.
“Hannah,” Matteo breathed, his voice barely audible. “Who is this?”
“His name is Leo,” I said softly. “He was at the front door. He said his mother told him to find the man with the silver medal.”
Matteo’s hand slowly reached into his suit pocket. He pulled out the worn silver medal his mother had hidden in the apron for thirty years.
He slowly knelt on the marble floor, ignoring his expensive suit. He held the medal out in his open palm.
“Is this what you’re looking for, Leo?” Matteo asked. His voice was so gentle it broke my heart.
Leo peeked around my leg. He looked at the medal. He saw the words FOR MY BOY engraved on the back.
The boy reached into his pocket and pulled out the wooden bird.
He stepped forward and placed the bird gently into Matteo’s large hand, right next to the silver medal.
“My dad made this for me,” Leo said quietly.
Matteo stared at the wooden bird. He turned it over.
Carved into the bottom of the wood was a single initial.
N.
Matteo closed his eyes. A sharp, ragged exhale escaped his lips.
“Nico,” Matteo whispered.
He looked at the boy. “Your father is Nico?”
Leo nodded. “He went away to heaven when I was little. Mom says he watches over us.”
Matteo’s jaw clenched. The confirmation of his brother’s death hit him like a physical blow, but the realization that his brother had a son—a son standing right in front of him—was a shockwave.
Before Matteo could say another word, the sound of sharp footsteps echoed from the dining room.
Celeste walked into the foyer, flanked by two of her own family’s security men. She looked panicked, her eyes darting toward the front door.
“Matteo, we need to talk about the photograph,” Celeste began, trying to sound authoritative.
Then, she saw the boy.
Celeste stopped walking. The remaining color drained from her perfectly made-up face. She looked like she had seen a ghost.
Leo turned his head.
He saw Celeste.
The little boy’s eyes went wide with absolute terror. He grabbed my hand with a grip so tight it hurt.
He pointed a shaking finger directly at Celeste’s beautiful, horrified face.
“That’s her,” Leo cried out, his voice echoing off the marble walls.
Matteo stood up slowly. “That’s who, Leo?”
Leo pressed himself against my leg.
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“That’s the lady who came to our house yesterday. That’s the lady who told my mom we had to disappear or she would put me in a box in the ground.”
TITLE: The Coat With The Bloodstained Collar
