Chapter 7 - The Shadows in the Park
The trees in Central Park were shedding their last stubborn leaves of late autumn, turning the gravel paths into a mosaic of wet brown and gold under a heavy, pewter sky.
Alessandro walked on the outside of the path, his long stride matching Sophie's skipping pace without effort. Behind them, twenty paces back, two men in identical dark overcoats strolled with their hands tucked deep into their pockets, their eyes scanning every bench, every jogger, every stray dog that crossed their line of sight.
Camille walked beside him, her gloved hand gripping the handle of her leather purse as if it were a life raft.
"You're turning a park walk into an armed encampment," she muttered under her breath, keeping her eyes fixed on Sophie, who was currently trying to coax a squirrel with a piece of crust from her pocket.
"The Morels sent three men to New York two weeks ago," Alessandro said, his voice entirely conversational, as if he were discussing the weather. "They are looking for leverage. They know my shipping interests in Antwerp are vulnerable because of the restructuring."
"And you brought us out here—out in the open—to use us as bait?" She stopped walking, her face pale with sudden, furious terror.
Alessandro stopped too, turning to face her. The wind caught the dark hair at his temples, blowing it across his forehead. He didn't touch it. He looked down at her with an intensity that made the surrounding trees seem miles away.
"I did not bring you out here as bait, Camille," he said, and for the first time, there was a raw, jagged edge to his voice that wasn't coldness—it was something much older, much heavier. "I brought you out here because my daughter has spent six years living in a Paris loft with her mother looking over her shoulder every time a car backfired in the street. That ends today."
"You think you can just kill them all?" she whispered, tears of frustration hot in her eyes. "You think your little army can protect us forever?"
"I don't think," he said softly. "I know."
A hundred yards away, near the edge of the Sheep Meadow, a man in a gray wool coat adjusted his collar, his hand dipping inside his jacket with a quick, practiced jerk.
Alessandro didn't shout. He didn't draw a weapon. He merely stepped half an inch to his left, placing his tall frame directly between Sophie, who was still crouched by the grass trying to feed the squirrel, and the man in the gray coat.
Luca appeared from behind a cluster of birch trees like a ghost materializing out of the mist, his hand already inside his overcoat. Two steps, three steps, and Luca was standing directly behind the man in the gray coat, a heavy-suppressed automatic pistol pressed firmly into the base of his spine.
The man froze. His hand came out of his jacket empty, open, palms toward the gray sky.
Alessandro didn't even turn his head to watch the extraction. He kept his eyes fixed on Sophie, who had finally coaxed the squirrel close enough to touch its tail before it scampered up an oak tree.
"See?" Sophie called out, turning around with a radiant, gap-toothed smile. "I told you they were friendly!"
"They are very friendly," Alessandro said, his voice returning to its normal, level cadence as Luca led the man in the gray coat away toward the waiting town cars parked by West 72nd Street.
Camille stood frozen, her chest heaving as she stared at the empty space where the man had been standing three seconds earlier.
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"Who was that?" she whispered.
"A tourist from Marseille who took a wrong turn," Alessandro said smoothly, offering her his arm. "Come, Camille. The girl wants to see the carousel before it starts to rain again."
