2. One
One
Sienna
“ G oodbye, Leni. Have a wonderful weekend,” I say, watching the little girl wave back at me with such enthusiasm it almost makes me chuckle. I can’t help but smile despite the pang of melancholy tugging at my heart as she dashes towards her mother with open arms.
Once they disappear through the school’s heavy gate, I head back to the classroom, where the chaotic atmosphere of a day with twenty preschoolers is finally simmering down.
As I step back into the room, my colleague Miriam is already clutching her purse and her keys, looking more than ready to bolt into the weekend.
“Are you sure you don’t mind me heading out early? It’s our anniversary today, and—” Miriam starts to explain, as though she hasn’t mentioned it at least a dozen times this week. As though it hasn’t practically been her only topic of conversation.
“Then why are you still here?” I reply with a wide grin, fully aware how excited she is for a romantic weekend getaway with her usually not-so-romantic husband. It’s their fifth wedding anniversary, and apparently, for the first time since they met, Michael has gone out of his way to make their day extra special.
Miriam’s excitement has been contagious all week already, and I can’t help but feel infected by her cheerfulness. And I certainly don’t mind covering for her until pick-up time is over.
After all, there are only two of our students left in my care when she slips out of the classroom door, the keys in her hand jingling as she leaves. “Thanks, you’re the best!” she calls out, her heels clicking down the hallway, gradually fading and being replaced by the steady ticking of the wall clock.
When I glance up, I see it’s already past three o’clock and the official pick-up time has come and gone.
St. Anne’s Preschool offers extensive pre- and after-school care to accommodate working parents. Miriam and I, being the junior teachers and most recent additions to the staff, bore the brunt of these extra hours. But I actually don’t mind them; the additional pay is a welcome boost to the otherwise modest teacher’s salary—one that barely rivals to what public school teachers usually make, despite the exorbitant tuition fees St. Anne charges.
Unlike Miriam, who usually stays until the last child has been picked up, I prefer to leave on time since I handle the early morning shift, welcoming our students while most of the teaching staff is still enjoying their breakfast at home. I don’t mind the early mornings—there’s something peaceful about seeing the school come alive. Just as I don’t mind staying late today so Miriam can get a jumpstart on her weekend.
Her constant rumblings prepared me well enough to know that it might still be a while before my weekend starts, but it’s not like I have anyone waiting for me at home anyway. The only thing awaiting me is the prospect of another weekend spent with a bottle of wine—or two—and a good book for company.
And it also happens that the two students responsible for my extra hours are also two of my favorites—Maddalina and Flynn Moretti.
The Moretti twins—or the problem children as most of the staff less-than-affectionately refers to them.
Because to most people, including every last teacher, they carry a label tinged with a mix of wariness, disgust, and morbid fascination. But the children themselves? They’re far from problematic—neither more nor less than any other child their age.
Maddalina is a walking ray of sunshine and one of the most cheerful and polite children I’ve ever met. Her twin brother Flynn, who rarely leaves her side, is quieter and more reserved. His reserve sometimes gives way to flashes of temper, but overall, they’re just typical five-year-olds with quirks and moods.
No, the obvious problem doesn’t lie with the twins themselves—it’s their father—their name.
The Moretti name carries a notorious reputation, reaching far beyond the city’s borders, that precedes them, casting a dark shadow over their young lives. It triggers an instant reaction in people—one of fear and prejudice. And it clings to the twins, following them everywhere they go, not because of anything they’ve done, but because of their family’s infamous legacy.
In my opinion, it’s more an instinct than any form of malicious intent. One that hardly anyone is immune to, no matter how hard they try, and I do try.
The moment I started teaching Maddy and Flynn, and came to know these two, I’ve tried to ignore their infamous heritage and see them as what they truly are—innocent children.
But no matter how hard I try to remain neutral, I can’t shake the unease that settles in my stomach whenever their father crosses my mind.
Maybe that’s why I prefer to downplay Flynn’s temper issues rather than reaching out to his father to discuss them. A meeting with him is long overdue, but it’s also one I dread with every fiber of my being.
While I’ve never been particularly fond of gossip and rumors, some of them are too loud, too persistent and sound too much like the truth to ignore.
Involuntarily, a shiver runs down my spine as thoughts of a man I’ve never even met invade my mind.
If the next few months pass without any major incidents, the twins may finish preschool without me ever having to meet one of the city’s most notorious figures.
“Ms. Walsh?” Maddy’s sweet voice pulls me from my dark thoughts about her father and back to reality. “I finished homework. Can I draw now?”
“Of course, you can,” I say, moving from the front of the classroom to her desk and kneeling beside her, watching as she eagerly pulls out crayons and paper from her bag.
Maddy possesses an undeniable talent and a fierce passion for drawing—her creations far surpass the typical scribbles and misshapen shapes of a child her age. “That looks wonderful, sweetheart.”
A barely audible grunt besides us draws my attention. Flynn’s gaze is fixed intently on the paper in front of him. “And what are you working on?” I ask gently.
“Stupid math,” he mutters while his eyes never leave the source of his frustration. Even after two years, his tiny outbursts of anger sometimes catch me off guard.
I shift to face him, softly placing my hand on his back in an attempt to offer comfort. “Math’s not stupid, but sometimes challenging. But you are smart, so I know you can do this.” Flynn’s face softens ever so slightly at my words. It’s a delicate tightrope I walk with him—providing him with the tad of extra attention he clearly craves while giving him the space he needs to open up bit by bit.
It’s then I hear the first heavy footstep echoing through the hallway and my stomach immediately twists into knots. I hold my breath as I strain to listen while my mind starts racing, involuntarily conjuring images of a man I hoped never to meet.
I am overreacting. This is ridiculous.
The chances of the twins’ father showing up himself are slim to nonexistent. There is no rational reason for me to be nervous. But still, I can’t help the way my heartbeat quickens with every step that’s coming closer.
“I think you’re being picked up, kids. It’s time to pack up your things,” I say, forcing a cheerful smile, trying to sound as if everything’s fine despite the frantic rhythm of my pulse drumming against my throat.
Get a grip, Sienna.
I take a deep breath and push myself back up to my feet. When I turn towards the door, my heart stutters, missing a beat as a dark figure steps into the classroom.
Tall and imposing, dressed in all black.
His intense eyes are the only part of his face that isn’t hidden by a mask. They dart to Maddy and Flynn, who stand frozen beside me, before they lock onto mine. There’s a silent threat in his gaze, in his posture that makes my blood run cold in my veins.
Whoever he is, he isn’t the kids' father, and he certainly isn’t here to pick them up from school.
“C-Can I… help you?” The attempt to disguise the onslaught of panic in my voice fails miserably as I stutter out the words. I take a step to the side, instinctively putting myself between this stranger and the children, who are standing perfectly still behind me, their eyes fixed on the stranger, but otherwise completely unaffected by his presence. No fear, no surprise. A chill runs down my spine at the realization.
“You can step out of the way.” He gestures casually, his voice smooth and low. But there’s an undercurrent of a threat in his words.
I take a quick glance backward at Maddy and Flynn. Shit. What am I going to do now?
I feel a surge of fear cursing through every fiber of my body, but I force myself to stand my ground.
There is no way I’ll let him lay a single finger on the children, even though I am completely out of my depth on how I am going to ensure that.
I am no match for him, not physically at least. And the chances are wearing thin that any staff members are still on the school premises, so calling out for help will most likely be fruitless. I take a step back, trying to put more distance between us. My mind races as I desperately try and come up with a plan.
“I certainly can’t do that. I need you to—” I say, fisting my hands at my side, trying to keep my voice firm. My heart pounds in my chest, echoing in my ears.
“Listen, lady, there’s no need for you to get hurt. Just get out of my way.” He takes a step closer, his eyes continuously flickering between the twins and me. There’s a growing impatience in his voice, a barely contained frustration.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I say, the words tumbling out of my mouth, the false bravery ringing hollow even to my own ears.
He lets out a low laugh, a cold sound that makes my skin crawl.
Two more steps, and he’s standing right in front of me, towering over me, and I have to crane my neck to meet his cold gaze.
“You’re making a big mistake,” he growls, and I know I am about to make an ever bigger one. I can feel my heart hammering against my ribcage, my breath coming in short gasps.
My gaze wanders to Maddy and Flynn for a moment. They are still frozen like statues, staring wide-eyed at the scene unfolding before them. Flynn has taken a protective stance in front of his sister, his little body squared as if ready to defend her from the danger. Maddy clings to his hand, her even smaller fingers wrapped tightly around his.
With one quick motion and before I can rethink my actions, I raise my arm and aim to punch him in the face. I put all my weight behind the blow, hoping to catch him off guard. He dodges my hit with ease, my fist slicing through empty air. When I pull my arm back, I grab for his mask, pulling it down and exposing at least part of his face.
“Stupid bitch,” he snarls, his face contorting with rage.
He grabs my arm in a vice-like grip and slams me into the wall. I feel a jolt of pain as my head connects with the hard surface, stars exploding in my vision.
“Ah.” I sink to the floor, breathing heavily. My head spins and as I try to push myself up, but a wave of dizziness forces me back down.
That gives him enough time to pull a gun from the back of his pants and aim it directly at me. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he hisses, his finger tightening on the trigger. His eyes are hard and deadly. And I can only sit there, staring at the barrel of the gun. Time slows.
But nothing happens.
Before he can pull the trigger, a commanding voice booms through the room.
“Drop the gun.”
Given my line of thought just minutes prior, I can’t believe that I let out a relieved breath when I see Fabrizio Moretti emerging in the doorway, his own gun steady and aimed at the man hovering above me.
Even as my gaze darts from the man who still aims his gun at me, his finger tightening ominously on the trigger, to the one I recognize instantly—thanks to the extensive search I did on the Moretti family—a flicker of relief sparks within my chest. The tension in my body slowly eases.
“I said—”
Suddenly my attacker grabs me by the hair, yanking me back to my feet and against his body. “And I say you drop yours, or I’ll shoot her,” he sneers, his hot breath against my ear. He presses the cold barrel of his gun against my temple, his finger tightening on the trigger while his other hand tightens the grip on my hair. Agony explodes through my scalp, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.
Through the haze of my hot tears, I see two more figures appearing behind Fabrizio. Even when he is outnumbered, the man doesn’t give up. Instead, he presses his gun harder against my temple.
“Leave, or I‘ll have no problem shooting her,” he spits, his voice venomous, laced with a deadly promise.
“Oliver, you heard the man. Take the children and leave.” One of Fabrizio Moretti’s companions steps forward and suddenly the children bolt toward him. Their sudden movement distracts the attacker for a split second.
His attention wavers for a moment and the grip he has on my hair loosens. Fueled by another surge of adrenaline, I jam my elbow into his stomach. He lets go of me as he staggers back, gasping for breath.
But he’s quick to recover from my blow. “Bitch,” he snarls as he smashes his gun against the side of my head.
I stagger back before landing hard on the floor.
And for a moment, everything around me goes black.
There’s a ringing in my ears.
I am not out of it altogether.
I can hear footsteps around me and male voices yelling, the sounds muffled and distant.
“Go after him.” More footsteps.
And then I feel someone hovering over me, their presence a warm weight in my barely-there awareness.
A squeeze on my arm, a brush of warmth against my cheek.
My eyelids flutter open and close again. I take a deep breath and slowly open my eyes again, blinking hard and fast to clear the haze.
Blurred edges of vision snap into sharp focus, revealing the icy blue eyes of Fabrizio Moretti piercing through me as he studies me intently.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his deep voice a rumble.
“I-I think so,” I manage to stammer, my words slurred.
“Fuck.” With a grunt, I push myself up into a sitting position.
More profanities slip from my lips as the room spins around me, my body swaying with the movement.
I take a few shallow breaths, my heart still racing in my chest.
I force myself to turn my head, taking in the sight of my unexpected savior as he crouches down to the floor next to me in a suit that certainly costs more than I earn in a month.
Somehow his presence is reassuring and intimidating at the same time.
“Thank you, Mr. Moretti,” I murmur, my voice weak.
“Fabrizio,” he corrects, his deep voice low and smooth. “Though the circumstances could be better, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Ms. Walsh.” He offers me a small, wry smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “My children talk about you all the time.”
I can only manage a weak smile in response to his words.
I feel a jolt of electricity run through me as his fingers brush against my cheek. It’s a feather-light touch, but it sets my heart racing all over again. I flinch back instinctively, my skin tingling from the contact.
“You are bleeding,” he notes.
As I meet his gaze, I’m struck by the intensity of his eyes—so blue, so piercing—that it feels as if he sees right through me.
He reaches out again, his fingers gently tilting my head to the side. I feel a stinging sensation as the air hits the cut, making me wince.
“I-I’m sure it’s nothing,” I try to reassure him, but he just grunts in response.
Before I can react, he’s surging to his feet, his movements so swift that my foggy mind can barely track them. I feel a wave of dizziness wash over me at the sudden motion before me, forcing me to reach out for support.
Without hesitation, he offers me his hand, his fingers closing around mine. He pulls me up with ease, catching me when my knees buckle. I feel his big hands settle at my waist, his grip firm as he supports my weight. It’s a shockingly intimate touch, sending a shiver running down my spine.
A masculine scent flows into my nostrils, the delicious fragrance nearly taking my breath away. I have to tilt my head up to look at him; everything around me is still spinning, but I manage to focus on Fabrizio’s face. The man is gorgeous, but the look of predatory hunger crossing his face when he looks down at me is terrifying. His icy gaze piercing right into the depths of my soul is the last thing I see…
… before everything around me goes black again.