Chapter 3 - THE NAME ON THE PAPER
The Russo townhouse was beautiful in the way museums were beautiful: expensive, quiet, and a little too careful.
A housekeeper named Mrs. Alvarez opened the door. “You must be Nora. I'm glad you're here.”
She said it with such relief that I wondered how many people had tried and failed to help Sophia.
The little girl appeared at the top of the stairs. She held a stuffed rabbit by one ear. When she saw me, she hurried down the last few steps.
“Hello, sweetheart.”
Sophia held out the rabbit.
“Is this your friend?”
She nodded.
“What's his name?”
She looked down.
“That's okay. He can have a secret name.”
I sat on the rug in the family room. Sophia settled a few feet away, placing the rabbit between us.
I took the crayons Mrs. Alvarez had left on the coffee table and began drawing a crooked bakery.
“I'm practicing,” I told her. “One day I want to open a place with cinnamon rolls in the window.”
Sophia watched my hand. I drew a loaf of bread, then a cake with too many candles.
She picked up a blue crayon and added a small window.
“That's better,” I said. “You know more about architecture than I do.”
She colored a tiny figure behind the window.
For nearly twenty minutes, we drew without speaking.
Then she took a black crayon and made a tall figure near the edge of the page. She pressed so hard that the paper tore.
I didn't react.
She drew a line from the figure to the house, then crossed it out.
“Someone you don't like?” I asked softly.
Her hand froze. She looked toward the hallway.
A man stood in the doorway. He was in his late forties, broad-shouldered, with a neatly trimmed beard and a dark suit.
“Dante,” he called. “We need to discuss the shipment.”
Dante appeared behind him.
“Not now, Sal.”
The man—Salvatore, I assumed—looked at Sophia. “There's my little princess.”
Sophia dropped the crayon. Her body went rigid.
Salvatore stepped forward. “Come give Uncle Sal a hug.”
Sophia scrambled backward until she was pressed against the sofa.
I moved without thinking, placing myself between them.
“She doesn't want a hug.”
Salvatore's expression shifted. “Excuse me?”
“She doesn't want a hug,” I repeated.
Dante's voice cut through the room. “Salvatore. Leave.”
Salvatore stared for a beat, then gave a short laugh. “I was only being friendly.”
He walked away.
Sophia's breathing remained quick and shallow. I sat down beside her, leaving space.
“You're okay,” I whispered.
Dante crouched near the rug. “Sweetheart, Uncle Sal is gone.”
Sophia clutched the rabbit.
“What happened?” Dante asked me.
“She got frightened when he came close.”
“He's known her since she was born.”
“That doesn't mean she has to hug him.”
Dante went quiet.
I looked down at the drawing. The tall black figure stood near the house, crossed out with a jagged blue line.
“Do you know why she reacted like that?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“Maybe she has a reason,” I said. “I'm not going to guess.”
Dante looked toward the hallway where Salvatore had disappeared.
When it was time for me to leave, Sophia followed me to the front door. She held out a folded piece of paper.
The drawing showed the same house, the same three figures, and the tall black figure outside.
This time, Sophia had written one word beneath it.
SAL.
The letters were uneven, but unmistakable.
I looked up.
Dante stood behind her, reading over my shoulder. His face changed.
“Did she write that?”
I nodded.
He took the paper carefully. “Salvatore.”
Sophia covered her ears.
Dante lowered his voice. “It's okay. Nobody's angry with you.”
But she wasn't looking at him.
May you like
She was looking at the front door, as if she expected someone to come through it.
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