Chapter 22 The Mother
The Mother
They always think fire is rage.
It isn’t.
Fire is clarity.
I sit in my apartment overlooking the city, the lights of the skyline stretching endlessly beyond the glass walls. My espresso sits untouched beside me as the television replays the news footage.
Flames.
Fire trucks.
A frightened reporter standing in front of a ruined building in some forgettable little town.
Small town.
Small minds.
Small defenses.
They moved her.
Of course they did.
They always run after the first lesson.
But the second lesson…
The second lesson is the one that stays with them.
My son thinks he’s clever.
He always did.
His father was the same way.
A man who believed secrets were invisible if he kept them quiet enough.
He thought I believed him when he traveled to the United States for those endless “business meetings.”
I knew exactly what he was doing.
I had my own man watching him back then.
Before I had to get rid of him.
Men are predictable that way.
My son forgets who raised him.
He forgets who taught him how to move money across continents without leaving a trace.
Who taught him how to erase men.
How to build ghosts.
How to hurt people properly.
The child is mine.
Not because I want her.
Because she is leverage.
And leverage…
is love, refined.
My assistant stands silently behind me.
He has been there long enough to know better than to interrupt my thoughts.
“Begin Phase Two,” I say calmly.
“Yes, Signora.”
“They will guard the girl.”
He nods.
“Then we won’t take the girl.”
A pause fills the room.
He understands.
Of course he does.
“We will take the man.”
A slow smile curves my mouth as the flames from the television reflect in the glass windows.
“Break him…”
I fold my hands together.
“…and everything else will follow.”