Chapter 4 - The Three Brothers
The heavy wooden front doors of the estate slammed open at 5:30 PM, accompanied by the chaotic, energetic thud of soccer cleats, heavy backpacks hitting the hardwood floor, and loud, overlapping voices.
"Mom! Leo stole my water bottle again!" seven-year-old Julian shouted, marching into the hallway with his dark hair messy from practice.
"I didn't steal it, you left it on the bench, idiot!" nine-year-old Leo shot back, dropping his heavy gym bag near the bench.
Four-year-old Mateo came trailing behind them, his shoelaces untied, clutching a half-eaten granola bar in his sticky hand. "Mommy! I scored a goal! Well, it was into the wrong net, but it went in!"
I stood in the doorway of the living room, holding tiny Elena wrapped in the pink velvet rosebud blanket.
James stood beside me, his hands tucked into his trouser pockets, his posture calm and authoritative.
The three boys stopped dead in their tracks in the middle of the foyer.
Julian froze mid-stride. Leo’s eyes widened as he looked at the pink blanket in my arms. Mateo dropped his granola bar onto the floor.
"What is that?" Leo asked, pointing a long finger toward my chest.
"Is that a dog?" Mateo asked hopefully, stepping closer. "Did Daddy buy us a puppy?"
"It's not a dog, dummy," Julian whispered, his face scrunched up in total bewilderment. "It's a baby!"
The three boys rushed forward, crowding around my knees, their energetic noise instantly dropping into a hushed, awe-struck quiet as they looked down at the tiny bundle in my arms.
Elena stirred slightly at the sound of their voices, her little dark head shifting against my arm, but she didn't cry.
"Where did she come from?" Leo asked, looking up at his father with a sharp, intelligent frown. "Mom wasn't pregnant."
James knelt down beside his sons, placing his heavy hands on Leo and Julian’s shoulders. His tone was serious, carrying that quiet, firm authority that his sons respected above all else.
"Listen to me very carefully, boys," James said, locking eyes with each of them in turn. "This is your sister. Her name is Elena Rose Moretti."
"A sister?" Julian gasped, his mouth forming a perfect 'O'. "We have a sister?"
"Yes," James said smoothly. "Her mother was a very dear friend of mine who passed away today in the hospital. Before she died, she asked me and your mother to take care of Elena forever. She is part of this family now. She carries our name, she lives in our house, and she belongs to us."
Leo looked down at the tiny baby, his young brow furrowing as he processed his father's words. Growing up as the eldest son of James Moretti, Leo was already observant, sharp, and understood far more about his father's dangerous world than a nine-year-old should.
He reached out a timid, grass-stained finger and gently touched Elena’s tiny hand.
Elena’s little fingers instantly wrapped around Leo’s index finger.
Leo’s sharp expression melted into a bright, proud grin.
"She's really small," Leo whispered, his voice full of sudden, fierce pride. "Is she going to sleep in the nursery upstairs?"
"Yes, buddy," I smiled, wiping a stray tear from my cheek. "She's going to sleep upstairs."
"Nobody at school better mess with her," seven-year-old Julian declared, puffing out his small chest and glaring at the front door as if an enemy army were waiting outside. "Me and Leo will beat them up!"
"I will bite their ankles!" four-year-old Mateo chimed in loyally.
James laughed—a warm, deep sound that echoed through the grand house—and pulled all three of his sons into a tight, fierce embrace.
"That's my boys," James said proudly, kissing the tops of their heads. "We protect our own. Always."
As I watched my husband and three sons surrounding the tiny baby girl on our living room carpet, the last lingering shreds of fear and doubt melted away from my heart.
We didn't know what dangers lay ahead. We didn't know when the ghost of Detroit would come searching for Marcus Vance’s lost daughter.
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But standing in that room, surrounded by the men who ruled my world, I knew one thing with absolute certainty: Elena Rose Moretti was no longer an orphan.
She was protected by an empire.
