Chapter 2 — A Man in Ordinary Clothes

“Your sister.”

Marco nodded.

“And you didn’t think that belonged in her employment file?”

“I asked personnel to leave out her maiden name.”

“You asked them to conceal a relationship with my head of security.”

“Yes.”

I let the silence remain between us.

He didn’t try to soften the answer.

That was one reason he had lasted ten years.

“Bring her back.”

He opened the door.

Maria returned without Sophia.

“She’s looking at the fish tank,” she said. “Mrs. Donnelly is with her.”

“Good. Sit.”

She took the chair nearest the door. Marco stayed on his feet.

“Did you know your brother concealed your relationship?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

She smoothed the apron over her knees.

“Because being his sister has made things complicated before.”

“What things?”

“Jobs. Landlords. People who suddenly decide I owe them a favor because they know where Marco works.”

Marco looked away.

“After Miguel died, I needed steady hours,” she continued. “Marco said your staff were paid on time. He said nobody would bother me here.”

“He could have given you money.”

“He offered.”

“And?”

“I needed work.”

“You needed help.”

“I accepted help. He found me the job.”

There was enough steel in her voice to make me reconsider the quiet woman who cleaned my study.

I turned to Marco.

“Your reason.”

“If someone wanted leverage over me, I didn’t want her name making it easy.”

“They could still find the connection.”

“They’d have to look.”

“You made that decision inside my security system without telling me.”

“Yes.”

“No more omissions.”

His jaw tightened.

“I understand.”

I called the duty supervisor and requested Maria’s original application, references, and access history. Then I ordered a review of the service corridor.

Maria went pale.

“Are we being investigated?”

“Yes.”

“For bringing Sophia?”

“For a child reaching a room she shouldn’t have been able to reach. And for an employment record someone decided I shouldn’t see.”

“Will I lose my job?”

“Not for having a brother.”

Marco watched me closely.

I disliked the relief in his face. It suggested he had expected something worse.

By ten that night, the checks confirmed what Maria had said. Her references were genuine. Her shifts matched the household logs. A delivery had left the service door propped open, and Sophia had followed the brighter hallway toward the conference room.

I instructed the supervisor to correct the fault.

Then I checked the calendar.

Nine meetings. Three calls. A lunch I had been trying to avoid for a month.

I crossed out every one.

At seven the next morning, Marco knocked on my bedroom door carrying a garment bag.

I looked inside.

“Absolutely not.”

“Those are jeans.”

“I recognize them.”

“And a sweater.”

“It’s gray.”

“That’s generally how gray sweaters work.”

I held it against my chest.

“I look like I’m about to explain a retirement account.”

“You’ll frighten fewer parents.”

“That’s not necessarily an advantage.”

He laid brown shoes beside the bed.

“Maria confirmed with the school. You’re listed as a family guest. They’ll check your identification.”

“They can.”

“No visible security inside. I’ll drive. Two men will remain outside the building.”

“And Sophia?”

“Apparently she’s been dressed since six.”

I looked at the sweater again.

Then I put it on.

Downstairs, Sophia stood beside her mother wearing the yellow dress and two purple ribbons. She carried a backpack almost as wide as her shoulders.

She circled me once.

“You look different.”

“Your instructions were very specific.”

She touched my sleeve.

“This is soft.”

“Good.”

“You can sit on the floor in it.”

That information arrived too late.

Maria wore a blue blouse beneath an inexpensive coat. She looked at my clothes, then quickly looked elsewhere.

“You can laugh,” I told her.

“I wasn’t going to.”

Marco made a sound behind me.

“You,” I said, “cannot.”

Sophia took my hand.

There was no hesitation. No glance toward Maria to ask permission.

Her palm was warm. Her fingers closed around two of mine.

I had been escorted into negotiations by armed men with less confidence than this child.

At the car, she climbed into a booster seat and instructed me to sit beside her.

Marco adjusted the straps.

“They’re too tight, Uncle Mack.”

He stopped.

I looked at Maria.

She shut her eyes briefly.

“Uncle Mack?”

“It’s what she calls him,” she said.

Sophia frowned at me.

“He’s my uncle.”

“Yes,” I said. “I’m beginning to catch up.”

Marco got behind the wheel.

In the rearview mirror, his eyes met mine.

“You could have mentioned that nickname.”

“You didn’t ask about nicknames.”

Maria gave him a warning look.

For once, I agreed with her.

The preschool occupied a redbrick building in Brooklyn. Paper butterflies covered the front windows.

Inside, someone was crying because another child had apparently committed an unforgivable offense involving a plastic dinosaur.

Sophia pulled me past them.

“That happens every day.”

“I’m sorry to hear it.”

“He always takes the green one.”

A woman with paint on her sleeve approached us.

“You must be Mr. Moretti. I’m Ms. Bennett.”

She checked my identification against her clipboard.

Then she crouched beside Sophia.

“You brought your guest.”

“He said yes.”

“I can see that.”

Sophia tightened her grip.

“He’s my borrowed daddy.”

Maria inhaled sharply.

I kept my eyes on the teacher.

Ms. Bennett nodded as though she heard stranger things before breakfast.

“Well, today you can show him everything you’ve been working on.”

She led us toward a wall covered with family drawings.

Sophia found hers immediately.

Maria was purple. Sophia was yellow. A man floated above them between blue stars.

“That’s Daddy.”

I looked at Maria.

She nodded.

Beside Sophia stood an enormous black figure with eyebrows like roof tiles.

“That’s you.”

“You drew me before asking?”

“I needed you in the picture.”

That was apparently enough explanation.

During introductions, a boy announced that his father fixed pipes and sometimes said words he wasn’t allowed to repeat.

Another child’s grandmother received applause for owning a cat.

Then Sophia stood beside my chair.

“This is Mr. Moretti.”

I nodded at a room full of parents who had no idea what to make of me.

“He has a big house,” she said. “And people listen when he talks.”

Marco became very interested in the window.

“Why did you invite him?” Ms. Bennett asked.

Sophia leaned against my knee.

“My daddy died.”

The room quieted.

“And Mr. Moretti was sitting by himself.”

I looked at her.

“I had people with me.”

“But nobody was next to you.”

I had no answer that belonged in that classroom.

Later, she gave me a sheet of paper and demanded that we make handprints.

Mine swallowed most of the page.

She pressed hers beside it, purple paint squeezing between her fingers.

“Now they’re together.”

She smiled at the result.

So did I.

This time she didn’t ask me to practice.

Then Marco’s phone vibrated.

He read the message, and the expression left his face.

I followed him into the hallway.

“Queens,” he said. “Three crews have moved. Carbone wants you at the house by noon.”

Through the doorway, Sophia was holding our picture up for her mother.

“What instructions have they received?”

“None from us.”

“Find out who sent them.”

“And the meeting?”

I glanced back toward the classroom.

Marco wasn’t watching his phone anymore.

He was watching me.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

He hesitated.

“Because I need to know whether you’re leaving.”