Chapter 3 - The Woman in the Rain
I found Alina forty-eight hours later.
Not because my people found her.
Because Sophia did.
The little girl was sitting at the breakfast table when she suddenly looked toward the window.
“Mommy doesn't like rain.”
I froze.
“Why?”
“She hides when it rains.”
I remembered the phone call.
Don't bring Sophia home.
I asked Sophia where her mother hid.
She pointed toward an old neighborhood on the South Side.
A church.
A bakery.
A laundromat.
Then she pointed to a photograph on my desk.
Alina.
“That lady lives near there.”
We went together.
I insisted on taking only Nico and Elena.
No convoy.
No weapons visible.
No intimidation.
I wanted Alina to see me as Sophia's father, not the man whose name had frightened her into disappearing.
We found her in a small apartment above a closed bookstore.
She opened the door.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
She looked older.
Not dramatically.
Just tired.
There were silver strands in her hair.
A scar near her eyebrow.
And the same eyes that had once made me forget entire meetings.
“Marco.”
My name sounded like grief in her mouth.
“You're alive.”
She almost laughed.
“So are you.”
I stepped aside.
Sophia was standing behind me.
The moment Alina saw her, her face collapsed.
“Sophia.”
Moments later, mother and daughter were holding each other.
I turned away.
That was their moment.
After several minutes, Alina looked at me.
“You shouldn't have brought her.”
“She asked to come home.”
“You don't understand.”
“Then explain.”
Alina wiped her tears.
“Your family wanted Sophia dead.”
The room went silent.
“What?”
“Not your entire family.”
She swallowed.
“Your father knew. He tried to protect her.”
“From whom?”
“Your uncle.”
I stared at her.
“My uncle?”
“Victor.”
My father's younger brother.
A man who had disappeared from family life years ago.
A man I had always been told was unstable.
Alina continued.
“Victor believed Sophia had a claim to something your father had hidden.”
“What?”
“I don't know.”
“Then why did they want her?”
“Because your father changed his will.”
My blood went cold.
Alina walked toward a cabinet.
She removed an envelope.
“My father left me instructions,” she said.
“Your father?”
She nodded.
“Six years ago, before he died.”
Inside the envelope was a handwritten letter.
I read it.
My father explained that he had discovered Victor had been siphoning money from the family businesses for years.
But that wasn't the worst part.
Victor had built a private network inside our legitimate companies.
People who answered to him.
People who could manipulate records.
People who could make people disappear.
My father had planned to expose him.
Then he discovered Sophia had been born.
And Victor discovered it too.
The final line stopped me.
I believe Victor intends to use Sophia to control Marco. If he cannot control my son, he will destroy the child.
I looked at Alina.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
She started crying.
“Because Victor convinced me you were already compromised.”
“By whom?”
“Daniel Rourke.”
The name again.
Everything led back to him.
Alina continued.
“He showed me bank records. Messages. Documents suggesting you knew what Victor was doing.”
“I didn't.”
“I know that now.”
“You believed him?”
“I was twenty-nine and terrified.”
I couldn't blame her.
Not completely.
But pain wasn't the same thing as innocence.
“You let me think you abandoned me.”
“I thought I was saving our daughter.”
“You took six years.”
“I know.”
Her voice broke.
“I know every day.”
I looked toward Sophia.
She was sitting on the floor, playing with a wooden horse.
She had no idea that three adults were reconstructing the ruins of her childhood around her.
I crouched beside her.
“Would you like to come home with me?”
She looked at Alina.
Then at me.
“Can Mommy come?”
I looked at Alina.
She was crying.
“Yes.”
Sophia smiled.
For the first time, I felt something resembling hope.
Then Nico entered.
His face was serious.
“Marco.”
“What?”
“We have a problem.”
He handed me a phone.
A photograph appeared.
Daniel Rourke.
Alive.
Standing beside a black SUV.
And beside him—
Victor Vitelli.
My uncle.
I stared at the image.
“When was this taken?”
“Two hours ago.”
“Where?”
“Chicago.”
I looked at Alina.
She went pale.
“They found us.”
The apartment lights suddenly went out.
Sophia screamed.
Nico pulled his weapon.
“Down!”
The first gunshot shattered the window.
I grabbed Sophia.
Alina dropped behind the sofa.
Another bullet struck the wall.
“Back exit!” I shouted.
Nico moved toward the door.
I carried Sophia down the narrow hallway.
Alina followed.
A third shot echoed.
We reached the back stairwell.
Then I heard footsteps below.
They had blocked the exit.
I looked at Alina.
She looked at me.
Six years ago, we had been separated because we believed the other was dangerous.
Now we were standing in the same dark stairwell with our daughter between us.
And for the first time since our marriage ended, we moved as one.
I grabbed a fire extinguisher.
Alina picked up a broken chair leg.
We descended.
Someone rushed around the corner.
I struck him before he could raise his weapon.
Nico followed.
Within seconds, the stairwell was silent.
We escaped through the basement.
Outside, rain poured over Chicago.
Sophia clung to me.
“Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“Are we going home?”
I looked at Alina.
“Yes.”
But I knew something.
Home was no longer a place.
May you like
It was something we would have to rebuild.
And somewhere in Chicago, Victor Vitelli was preparing to destroy it.
