Chapter 2 - The Extraction
The moment the word left Clara’s lips, the atmosphere in the bakery shifted. Dante didn't smile, but a dark satisfaction settled over his harsh features. He pulled a sleek black phone from his tailored suit jacket and dialed a single number.
“Bring the cars around to the front. We’re leaving,” Dante commanded into the receiver. He hung up and looked at Clara. “Get your coat. We’re getting your brother.”
“Now?” Clara stammered, pulling off her apron. “It’s midnight. He has school—”
“He’s not going to his old school anymore,” Dante stated, his tone brooking no argument. “By the time the sun comes up, my legal team will have established a trust in his name, enrolled him in an elite private academy, and drafted our marriage certificate. Do you really think a judge is going to hand him over to Beatrice when he’s the legal ward of a billionaire?”
Clara grabbed her threadbare wool coat, her hands shaking so badly she couldn't manage the buttons. Dante stepped forward, brushing her hands away. With startling gentleness, the mafia boss buttoned her coat for her, his knuckles grazing her collarbone.
Two black, armored SUVs idled outside the bakery, their headlights cutting through the blinding snow. A man in a dark suit stepped out, holding an umbrella open for them.
“This is Enzo,” Dante said. “He is your personal security detail from this moment forward. Wherever you go, he goes.”
Clara climbed into the heated, leather-scented interior of the SUV, her mind entirely blank. They drove the two blocks to her dilapidated apartment building in silence. When they arrived, Dante didn't wait in the car. He followed her up the three flights of stairs, his presence dominating the narrow, foul-smelling hallway.
Clara unlocked the door. The studio was freezing, the radiator hissing a weak, pathetic tune. Leo was curled into a ball on the futon, shivering beneath a thin blanket.
Clara rushed to him, shaking his small shoulder. “Leo, buddy, wake up.”
The eight-year-old rubbed his eyes, blinking in the dim light. He looked past Clara and froze, staring at the giant man in the doorway. “Clara? Who is that?”
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“This is Dante,” Clara said, her voice cracking. “He’s… we’re going to stay with him for a while, okay? Get your backpack.”
Dante stepped into the room. He didn't look at the peeling paint or the empty cupboards. He looked at the boy. “Leave the backpack, Leo. You won’t need it. I’ve already bought you everything new.”
