Chapter 15
Cassian
Isla’s door had been closed for three days now.
Not locked—I'd checked, standing outside it every night like some fool, my hand on the handle. A barrier that said more than words ever could.
She had come out each morning for Leo’s breakfast, her face a careful mask of composure.
She’d helped him with his cereal, smiled at his chatter about dinosaurs, then retreated the moment he was occupied with his trains.
She wouldn't look at me. Wouldn’t speak beyond the bare minimum required for Leo's sake.
And now that door closed again.
I stood at my office window, watching the city wake beneath a gray October sky. My reflection stared back—a man who'd built an empire on violence and control, now undone by a woman's silence.
My phone buzzed. Marco.
"Morning briefing?" he asked.
"My office. Ten minutes."
I poured coffee, black and bitter, and tried to focus on what mattered. The business. The family. The threats circling closer every day.
Not the way Isla had looked at me three nights ago, when she'd learned what I really was. Like I was a monster she'd accidentally let into her home.
Marco arrived precisely on time, closing the door behind him. He carried a tablet and the grim expression I'd come to associate with bad news.
"Matteo?" I asked, not bothering with pleasantries.
"Getting bolder." He pulled up surveillance photos. "He met with three of our Brooklyn dock supervisors yesterday. Two switched allegiance. The third refused and…" Marco hesitated.
"Spit it out."
"Turned up in the East River this morning. Beaten badly. Still alive, but the message was clear."
My hand tightened around the coffee mug. "He's making his move."
"Looks that way. And boss?" Marco's expression darkened. "He's been asking questions about the Morrison building. About why you've suddenly increased security. About who's living here."
Ice flooded my veins. "What does he know?"
Marco pulled up another image on his tablet—a grainy photo taken from across the street. "This was taken yesterday afternoon."
I leaned forward. The image showed the Morrison building's entrance. And there, just visible through the glass doors, were two figures in the lobby.
Isla and Leo.
"When was this?" My voice was deadly calm.
"Three PM yesterday. Right after you left for the downtown meeting." Marco zoomed in. "They didn't leave the building—just came down to the lobby. Leo wanted to see the fountain in the atrium, according to the doorman."
The fountain. Of course. I'd shown it to Leo on our first day, and he'd been fascinated.
"Matteo's photographer was across the street?"
"Set up in a parked van. We didn't spot him until after he'd taken this shot."
I studied the photo. Isla's hand on Leo's shoulder. Both their faces visible, identifiable.
"Did it transmit?"
"We intercepted it before he could send it. But boss—" Marco met my eyes. "Matteo knows you're protecting someone now. It's only a matter of time before he figures out who."
The photo burned into my vision. My son. Visible. Photographed. Targeted.
"How did Matteo know to watch this building?" I asked quietly
Marco's expression darkened. "That's what I've been trying to figure out. The Morrison purchase was discreet. The renovations were handled by our people. There's no reason he should even know you own it, let alone that you're staying here."
"Unless someone told him."
"Unless someone told him," Marco agreed.
I set down the mug with careful control. "Find the leak. I don't care how long it takes or what you have to do. Someone in our organization is feeding Matteo information, and I want their name by end of day."
"And when I find them?"
"Bring them to me." My voice dropped. "I'll handle it personally."
Marco nodded. "What about the building security? If there's a leak, changing our protocols might—"
"The building security stays as is. Eight men, facial recognition, the works.
But add counter-surveillance. I want to know if anyone's watching the watchers.
And Marco?" I met his eyes. "From now on, information about Leo and Isla goes through you and me only.
No one else. Not even our most trusted people. "
"You think the leak is that high up?"
"I think I'm not taking chances with my son's life."
"Already in motion." He paused. "There's something else. Vincent Calabrese reached out."
That got my attention. "What does Vincent want?"
"To help. He says Matteo's been sniffing around his territory too. Offering deals, trying to poach his dock workers." Marco pulled up another file. "Calabrese thinks Matteo's planning something bigger than a simple power grab."
"Vincent Calabrese doesn't offer help without expecting something in return."
"True. But right now, his interests align with ours. Matteo's making enemies faster than allies. Vincent wants him contained before he destabilizes the entire waterfront."
I considered this, calculating angles and consequences. Accepting help from Calabrese would create debt. But refusing might leave us vulnerable.
"Set up a meeting. Neutral location. I want to hear what he's offering."
After Marco left, I pulled up the security feeds. Leo's playroom showed him building an elaborate train track, his face serious with concentration. The living room camera showed Isla curled in a chair, a book open in her lap, but her gaze distant, unfocused.
She was planning something. I could see it in the tension of her shoulders, the way she jumped at sudden sounds. She was looking for an exit, a way out.
And I couldn't let her find one.
Not because I wanted to keep her prisoner—though that's what she believed. But because the moment she left this building, she and Leo would be exposed. Vulnerable. And Matteo would use that vulnerability without hesitation.
I scrolled through my contacts to a name I rarely used—one reserved for situations where standard security wasn't enough.
"Dmitri," I said when the line connected. "I need your team on standby. Protection detail. High priority."
"How many?" The voice was heavily accented, Russian, all business.
"Your best eight. Twenty-four-hour rotation. External perimeter on a single building."
"Location?"
"Morrison building, Midtown. I'll send coordinates." I paused. "Invisible positioning. No one can know they're there—not the targets, not potential threats, not even some of my own people."
"Expensive."
"I don't care what it costs. This is family."
A beat of silence. Dmitri knew I didn't use that word lightly. "I'll have the team in position by nightfall."
"Good. And Dmitri? Anyone who tries to breach the perimeter—I don't want them arrested. I want them to disappear."
"Understood."
I hung up and turned back to Marco. "Dmitri's team will handle the external perimeter. Your people stay on the building itself—lobby, elevators, floors. Two layers of protection."
Marco nodded slowly. "Dmitri's crew doesn't fuck around."
"Exactly why I'm using them."
"The targets?" His Russian accent was thick, but his English was precise.
"A woman and a child. Two and a half years old." I pulled up Leo's photo on my screen. "If I give the word, you extract them immediately. No questions, no delays."
"Extraction location?"
"I'll provide coordinates when necessary. But Dmitri? If it comes to that, if I'm calling you for extraction, it means everything has gone wrong. Your only job is getting them out safely."
"Understood. The fee—"
"Triple your usual rate. Plus a bonus if they don't get a scratch."
A pause. "You care about them."
It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway. "More than anything."
After ending the call, I stood and moved to the locked cabinet in the corner of my office. Inside were things I hadn't touched in years—weapons I'd thought I'd left behind when I'd decided to focus on the legitimate business.
A Glock 19. A knife with a pearl handle, a gift from my grandfather. And a box of ammunition I'd hoped never to use again.
I loaded the Glock with practiced efficiency, the weight of it familiar in my hand. Then I secured it in the desk drawer, close enough to reach but hidden from view.
I'd killed my first man when I was seventeen. A rival family's soldier who'd pulled a knife outside a Queens nightclub. My father had been proud, had called it my "baptism" into the family business.
I'd never enjoyed the violence. But I'd learned to be efficient with it. To use it when necessary and never hesitate.
If Matteo came for my family, I wouldn't hesitate now.
That evening, I found Leo in the playroom, building what appeared to be a castle out of blocks. He worked with intense focus, his tongue poking out slightly as he balanced each piece.
"That's impressive," I said from the doorway.
He looked up, face lighting with a smile that made my chest tight. "Cass'an! Look! Made castle!""
I moved closer, crouching beside him. "For who?"
"For Rex!" He held up the stuffed dinosaur, hugging it. "He da king. Needs big castle."
"Very important," I agreed. "Can I help?"
"Yes! Make tower! Really, really tall!"
We worked together in comfortable silence, Leo instructing me on proper tower construction with the seriousness of a master architect. His small hands would reach for blocks, occasionally brushing against mine, and each time I marveled at how something so tiny could be so perfect.
"Cass'an?" he asked after a while. "You stay here?"
The question caught me off guard. "I live here, yes. And so do you now."
"And Mama?"
"Your mama too."
He seemed to consider this, his small face thoughtful. "Good. Like it here." He paused, stacking another block. "Toys."
Then his expression shifted, becoming serious. He looked up at me. "Mama sad."
The observation, so simple and honest, hit harder than any accusation could have. "She is?"
"Yeah." He nodded solemnly. "She cries.”
He placed another block carefully. "She miss home? And Maya?"
"Maybe," I said, though I knew it was more complicated than that. "Sometimes change is hard, even when it's for the best."
"Oh." He accepted this with the easy adaptability of childhood, then brightened slightly. "Mama here and me here. All together."
"We are," I agreed. "And that's good, right?"
"Yeah!" He smiled, then pointed at the blocks. "More blocks? Up there? Can't reach." I handed him the blocks, watching as he built higher, his small hands steady and sure. This child—my child—had no idea of the danger circling us. No concept of the threats his very existence posed.
And I would keep it that way. Whatever it took.
"Leo?" Isla's voice came from the doorway. "Time to get ready for bed."
"No, Mama! Not done! Castle not done!"
"You can finish tomorrow." She stepped into the room, her eyes flicking to me briefly before returning to Leo. "Say goodnight to Cassian."
Leo wrapped his small arms around my neck in a hug that nearly undid me. "Night, Cass'an. Make castle more tall ‘morrow?"
"Absolutely," I promised, my voice rougher than I intended. "We'll make it the tallest castle in the city."
After Isla led him away for his bath, I stood in the empty playroom, staring at the half-finished castle. The tower we'd built together leaned slightly, held together by careful balance and shared effort.
Fragile. Precious. Worth protecting.
I pulled out my phone and texted Marco: Status update. Now.
His response came within seconds: Matteo meeting with the Castellano family tonight. Intel suggests he's proposing an alliance.
The Castellanos controlled the northern docks and had always maintained an uneasy peace with the Barone family. If Matteo convinced them to switch sides, he'd have enough muscle to make a real move.
I typed back: Keep eyes on the meeting. Record everything.
Then I made one more call.
"Vincent," I said when Calabrese answered. "That meeting you proposed? Make it tomorrow. Noon. The usual place."
"So, you're finally ready to talk business?"
"I'm ready to discuss our mutual problem." I moved to the window, watching the city lights flicker. "Matteo's getting ambitious. That affects both of us."
"Indeed, it does." I could hear the smile in Vincent's voice. "I'll see you tomorrow, Cassian. And Cassian? Bring an appetite. My chef has outdone himself."
After hanging up, I checked the security feeds one more time. Leo was in the bath, splashing happily while Isla tried to wash his hair. She was smiling—a small, tired smile, but genuine. For Leo's sake, she was trying.
The feed from her bedroom showed it was empty, the door open for the first time in days. A small thing, but it gave me hope.
Maybe the wall she'd built was starting to crack.
My phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number. I didn't need to guess who it was.
Nice family you've got there, cousin. The boy has your eyes. Would be a shame if something happened to them.
A photo was attached. I opened it, and ice flooded my veins.
Taken three days ago—before I'd brought them to the Morrison building. Isla and Leo at a playground near her old apartment in Brooklyn. Leo on a swing, Isla pushing him, both their faces clearly visible. No security detail. No protection.
Completely vulnerable.
Matteo had been watching them even then. Before I knew they existed. Before I could protect them.
And he’s been close enough to take this photo. Close enough to touch them.
I stared at the image—my son's delighted smile, Isla's gentle hands on his back, pushing him higher. A perfect moment of innocence, now poisoned by the knowledge that Matteo had been there. Watching. Waiting.
How long had he been following them? How many other photos did he have?
My vision went red for a moment before ice-cold calm settled over me. I forwarded the message to Marco with one word: NOW.
Then I deleted the photo from my phone, though I knew I'd never forget it.
Matteo had just declared war.
And he'd chosen the worst possible way to do it—by threatening my son.
I texted Matteo back: Touch them, and there won't be anywhere on this earth you can hide.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Then: We'll see, cousin. We'll see.
I deleted the thread and immediately called the security team. "Lock down everything. Double the guards on Leo's floor. No one gets near them without my direct authorization."
Then I pulled up Dmitri's contact, typing a message: Threat level elevated. Be ready to move on my signal.
His response was immediate: Standing by.
But even as I gave the orders, I knew the truth: Matteo had just declared war.
And in war, there were no rules.
I set the phone down and returned to the window, watching my reflection in the glass. The city sprawled below, full of threats I couldn't control, enemies I couldn't see.
But in this penthouse, under my roof, were the only two people who mattered.
And I would burn everything—the business, the territory, the empire—before I let Matteo take them from me.