Chapter 6 - The Shadow of the Matriarch
The rain did not feel like water anymore.
It felt like needles of ice,
stabbing into my skin,
pinning me to the spot.
I looked at my daughters.
Sadie’s face was frozen in a mask of confusion,
her small hand swallowed by the woman’s gloved grip.
Lucy was staring at the woman’s crest,
her eyes wide,
not with fear,
but with a terrifying kind of recognition.
“Let them go,”
I said,
my voice sounding thin and brittle against the roar of the Newark traffic.
Sophia Russo did not look like a woman who had been dead for thirty years.
She looked like a queen in exile.
Her hair was a silver-spun gold,
pulled back into a tight,
merciless bun.
Her coat was made of a wool so dark it seemed to absorb the light from the streetlamps.
“Let them go?”
Sophia repeated,
her voice a melodic chime that carried a hidden edge of steel.
“They are not yours to hold,
Elara.
They are the fruit of a tree that was planted in blood.”
She stepped closer,
pulling the girls with her.
“They have the mark.
They have the sight.
And they have the key’s twin.”
I felt a jolt of electricity run down my spine.
The key’s twin?
I looked at the SUV.
The driver was a man with a scarred face,
his hand resting on a holstered weapon.
“They are my children,”
I hissed,
stepping forward,
ignoring the cold.
“I birthed them.
I raised them.
I don't care about your family,
or your names,
or your buried secrets.”
Sophia laughed,
and the sound was like glass breaking in a quiet room.
“You think you are an accident?”
she asked,
her eyes narrowing.
“You think your mother,
my dear,
lost sister,
just happened to wander into a life of poverty?”
She tilted her head,
watching me with a predatory curiosity.
“You were the experiment,
Elara.
The control group.
Lorenzo wanted to see if the Russo blood would remain potent even in the gutter.”
She squeezed Sadie’s hand,
not enough to hurt,
but enough to command attention.
“And look at them.
They are perfect.
They see the ghosts because the ghosts are their ancestors.”
Inside the warehouse,
a volley of gunfire erupted.
The sound of a grenade,
or perhaps a breached door,
shook the pavement beneath my feet.
I looked back at the entrance,
desperate for a sign of Damian.
“He won’t be coming for you,”
Sophia said,
noting my distraction.
“Damian is a sentimentalist.
He thinks he can clean the Russo name.
He thinks he can be a businessman who happens to have a past.”
She leaned in,
her face inches from mine.
I could smell her perfume—something expensive,
cloying,
like lilies on a casket.
“But the Syndicate doesn't want a businessman.
They want a god.
And gods require sacrifices.”
Suddenly,
the side door of the warehouse blew open.
Damian emerged,
stumbling,
his suit jacket torn and stained with soot.
He was dragging Silas by the collar,
his gun pressed against the older man’s temple.
“Back off!”
Damian roared,
his voice raw and desperate.
He saw Sophia,
and he froze.
The expression on his face wasn't surprise.
It was horror.
“Aunt Sophia?”
he whispered,
the gun wavering.
“You…
you were the one who took them.”
“I saved them,
Damian,”
Sophia said,
her voice calm and steady.
“I saved them from our father’s weakness.
And now,
I am here to claim the interest on that debt.”
Silas let out a choked laugh,
even as blood dripped from a cut on his forehead.
“She’s the one,
Damian,”
Silas wheezed.
“She was never dead.
She was the shadow hand.
She was the one who told Lorenzo which children to keep and which to discard.”
Damian’s grip on the gun tightened.
“You kidnapped my nieces,”
he said.
“You orchestrated this whole demolition to bring Elara here.”
“The cottage had to go,”
Sophia said simply.
“The memories it held were becoming…
unstable.
The girls were calling to it.
Can’t you feel it,
Damian?
The air is thick with the Russo will.”
I saw Sadie look up at Sophia.
“The man in the hat said you would come,”
Sadie said,
her voice tiny but clear.
“He said you were the one who pushed him.”
Sophia’s face went momentarily pale.
The mask of the ice queen cracked,
revealing a glimpse of something frantic and dark.
“He was old,
Sadie,”
Sophia said,
her voice losing its melodic quality.
“He was a relic.
He was standing in the way of the future.”
She looked at me,
then at the girls.
“Get in the car,”
she commanded.
The driver stepped out,
his gun drawn.
He didn't point it at Damian.
He pointed it at me.
“If you move,”
Sophia said to me,
“the girls will see their mother die on this wet Newark street.
Is that the legacy you want for them?”
I looked at Damian.
He was trapped.
If he fired at the driver,
Sophia’s man would fire at me.
If he fired at Sophia,
the driver would fire at him.
It was a stalemate designed by a master of the game.
I looked at my daughters.
Lucy’s eyes were locked on mine.
She gave a small,
almost imperceptible shake of her head.
In that moment,
I realized they weren't just victims.
They knew something I didn't.
They were Russos,
after all.
And Russos always had a hidden card.
“Go with her,”
I whispered,
the words tearing my heart out of my chest.
“Mommy?”
Sadie cried out,
her eyes filling with tears.
“It’s okay,”
I said,
trying to force a smile.
“I’ll find you.
I promise.
I will never stop looking for you.”
Sophia smiled,
a triumphant,
ugly thing.
“Of course you will,
Elara.
It’s in your blood.”
She shoved the girls into the back of the SUV.
The door slammed shut,
the sound like a gavel on a death sentence.
The vehicle roared to life and sped away,
splashing mud onto my legs.
I stood there,
kneeling in the rain,
as the red taillights disappeared into the fog.
Damian let go of Silas,
who slumped to the ground,
gasping for air.
Damian walked over to me,
his shoulders slumped,
his gun hanging at his side.
“We’ll get them back,”
he said,
though his voice lacked conviction.
I looked up at him,
and for the first time,
I didn't see a boss or a mobster.
I saw a man who had lost everything he thought he knew.
“You don't understand,
Damian,”
I said,
my voice cold and dead.
“She didn't just take my daughters.
She took the heirs.
And now,
the Syndicate is going to burn everything you’ve built.”
I stood up,
ignoring the pain in my knees.
May you like
“And if you don't help me kill her,
I’ll do it myself.”
