Chapter 5 - Shadows in Brookline
The next morning, the storm had passed, leaving Marblehead buried under a sparkling blanket of white snow.
Inside the kitchen of Cliff House, the atmosphere was surreal. For five years, Rocco had eaten his meals in absolute silence, surrounded by bodyguards and financial reports. Now, the kitchen was chaos.
Luca was sitting on the island counter, happily eating pancakes coated in maple syrup. Ava was carefully explaining to Dante—who looked utterly terrified—how to properly braid her doll’s hair, while Leo sat beside Rocco, examining a map of Boston spread out on the table.
“This is where we live,” Leo said, pointing his small finger at a street near Jamaica Plain. “In the apartment above Mrs. Higgins’s bakery. It smells like cinnamon.”
Rocco looked at the tiny dot on the map. They had been living six miles from his downtown office. For five years, he had driven past that district a hundred times, completely unaware that his children were sleeping inside a small apartment above a bakery.
Serena walked into the kitchen, holding a fresh cup of coffee. She wore an oversized sweater Rocco had left in the guest room, her dark hair pulled back into a simple knot.
“Dante,” Rocco said, standing up from the table. “Keep four men on the perimeter. No one enters the property without clearance from Vitale.”
“Understood, Boss,” Dante said, relieved to escape Ava’s doll-braid lesson.
Rocco signaled to Serena, leading her into the adjacent hallway.
“I’m going to the Brookline clinic,” Rocco said low. “The flash drive I took from Aris yesterday contains encrypted files, but the main server at his private office holds the original physical records—the signed orders from Beatrice, the faked blood panels, and the financial paper trail.”
“Why do you need the physical records?” Serena asked, worry etching her forehead. “You already turned your back on her.”
“Because Beatrice won't stop with a phone call, Serena,” Rocco said grimly. “She rules through legal threats and corrupt judges. If she tries to file for emergency custody of the triplets using her influence in the probate courts, I need evidence that will put her and Aris in federal prison for the rest of their lives.”
Serena looked toward the kitchen, where the sound of the children’s laughter echoed off the marble tiles.
“Be careful,” she said softly, reaching out and brushing a piece of lint from his coat lapel. “She’s dangerous, Rocco.”
Rocco looked down at her hand on his chest. He reached over, wrapping his large fingers around hers, lifting her hand to his lips and pressing a quiet kiss against her knuckles.
“I’ll be back before dinner,” he promised.
An hour later, Rocco and Vitale arrived at the Brookline Medical Center—a discreet, high-end private clinic nestled behind high brick walls in one of Boston’s wealthiest suburbs.
The building was quiet. Snow covered the manicured courtyard.
Rocco walked through the front doors, his heavy coat pulled tight. The receptionist barely had time to look up before Vitale stepped into the security office, quietly shutting down the building's internal alarm systems.
Rocco walked straight down the carpeted hallway to Dr. Aris’s private office. He used the master keycard taken from Aris’s coat the previous day, stepping into the luxurious, oak-paneled study.
Behind a painting of the Boston skyline sat a heavy steel wall safe. Rocco punched in the eight-digit passkey retrieved from the flash drive.
The safe clicked open with a heavy hydraulic hiss.
Inside lay three thick, black leather binders labeled: DUCA — SPECIAL PROJECTS.
Rocco pulled the binders out, laying them across the desk. He flipped open the first volume, marked Five Years Ago.
His eyes scanned the yellowed documents inside. Signed medical affidavits. Wire transfer receipts totaling two million dollars to Dr. Aris’s offshore account in the Cayman Islands.
And then, his eyes landed on a document dated three days after Serena had vanished.
It was a birth registry request, pre-signed by Donna Beatrice Duca, alongside a legal adoption application naming an elite private orphanage in Switzerland.
Rocco’s blood ran cold.
Beatrice hadn't just intended to terminate the pregnancy. If Serena had given birth anywhere near a hospital controlled by the Duca family, Beatrice was planning to steal the babies, declare Serena dead, and ship the children to Europe to be raised under total family control.
“Looking for these, Rocco?” a raspy, familiar voice spoke from the doorway.
Rocco slammed the binder shut, turning slowly around.
May you like
Standing in the doorway was not Dr. Aris.
It was Julian Moretti—the brother of Gianna Moretti, the woman Beatrice had tried to force Rocco to marry five years ago. Behind Julian stood four heavily armed men wearing dark tactical gear.
