His security team believed the boy had been kidnapped.
His enemies assumed he was dead.
His wife had disappeared on the same day, leaving behind nothing but silence and unanswered questions.
After an entire year, Alessandro no longer trusted any version of the truth.
The damp paper wrinkled beneath his fingertips as another city bus rumbled past, leaving behind the smell of diesel fuel mixed with wet asphalt and food drifting from nearby apartment windows.
A few feet away, two bodyguards stood watch.
Neither spoke.
Neither dared interrupt.
Their employer—the most feared man in New York—had spent the past twelve months visiting neighborhoods personally, hanging missing-person posters with his own hands instead of sending someone else.
Then a tiny voice broke the silence.
« Sir? »
Alessandro looked down.
A little girl stood beside him, no older than seven.
She wore a faded yellow dress that had clearly been washed so many times it had forgotten its original color. A blue ribbon held back her dark hair, while her bare feet rested on the cold, rain-soaked sidewalk as though she barely noticed the weather.
