The Boss’s Smallest Shadow: "If I Leave, Will Mommy Get to Stay?"

"Mobilize everyone," Alessandro said.

Enzo blinked. "Sir?"

"I said everyone!" Alessandro roared, the sound rattling the glass in the chandeliers. "Every soldier, every driver, every associate on the payroll! Call the captains from the north, south, and east districts! Shut down the ports! Block the highway exits! Put five hundred men on the streets!"

"Boss, the police—"

"I don't give a damn about the police!" Alessandro grabbed Enzo by the collar, his eyes burning with pure fury. "If a single hair on that little girl’s head is harmed, I will burn this entire city to the ground and salt the earth! Find her!"

Within ten minutes, the Romano estate emptied.

Dozens of black SUVs tore down the gravel driveway, sirens blazing, tires spraying mud across the manicured lawns. The underground network of the city’s most formidable crime syndicate moved not for territory, not for millions of dollars, not for revenge—but for a three-year-old girl in a yellow raincoat.

Alessandro didn't ride in the back of his limousine. He drove his own customized SUV, tearing through the rain-drenched streets of the industrial district at ninety miles an hour.

The windshield wipers slapped frantically against the glass. The rain was turning to sleet, coating the pavement in slick, lethal ice.

She’s three years old, Alessandro thought, his knuckles turning white around the steering wheel. She has no shoes for this weather. She doesn't have her rabbit.

"Poppy is on my desk," he muttered aloud to the empty car, his chest heaving. "She left Poppy because she thought she had to pay for her mother's life."

His radio crackled to life. Enzo’s voice came through static: "Boss! Patrol three checked the diner on Route 9. Nothing. Patrol six checked the train depot. Nobody has seen her."

"Keep looking!" Alessandro barked into the mic. "Check every alley! Every bus stop! Every storm shelter!"

Alessandro turned the vehicle toward the southern pier—the darkest, coldest corner of the waterfront. It was where the buses stopped before heading out toward the state line. If a child wanted to "disappear" so her mother could stay, she would look for the big buses that carried people far away.

The storm raged violently, tearing leaves from the trees and flooding the gutters.

Alessandro slammed the brakes near the pier bus terminal. The tires skidded on the wet asphalt before catching. He threw the door open, ignoring his coat, ignoring the cold rain that instantly soaked through his white shirt and re-opened the dull ache in his stitched shoulder.