Prologue
Listen to Castle by Halsey for the full experience!!!
County Cork Ireland
Twenty One years ago
Rain tapped steadily against the tall windows of St. Brigid's Orphanage, the sound soft but persistent, like fingers drumming on glass. Outside, the Irish countryside had dissolved into gray mist and dripping stone walls. Inside, the building smelled faintly of lemon polish, damp wool coats, and old books that had been read too many times.
The halls were quiet.
Too quiet for a building filled with abandoned children.
Giovanni Luciano stood in the doorway of the playroom, hands resting loosely in the pockets of his dark wool coat.
He didn't particularly like children.
They were loud. Emotional. Unpredictable.
And unpredictability was a liability.
But sometimes—if you found the right one early enough—they could be shaped.
Across the room, five -year-old Tatum sat cross-legged on the floor surrounded by a chaotic scatter of tiny Lego bricks. Red, yellow, blue, and green pieces spread across the worn rug like fallen jewels.
Her fiery red hair looked as though it had been struck by lightning. Tight curls sprang wildly in every direction, refusing to be tamed, catching the dim light from the window like threads of copper fire.
Her pale silver eyes were narrowed in intense concentration.
She wasn't playing.
She was building.
The structure rising in front of her was already taller than any of the other children's creations scattered around the room. It leaned slightly to one side, imperfect and messy—but ambitious.
A castle, if Giovanni had to guess.
Balanced carefully in her lap were two small wooden figurines.
Tom and Jerry, characters from a cartoon he vaguely remembered seeing when watching the Boss' son.
The paint on them was worn smooth with age, their edges softened from countless hours in tiny hands.
She hadn't noticed him yet.
Or at least that's what Giovanni thought as he leaned against the doorframe and watched.
The orphanage director had described the girl as difficult.
That usually meant stubborn.
Or intelligent.
Sometimes both.
"Hello, Tatum."
Her head didn't lift. She placed another Lego brick onto the tower. Carefully. Precisely.
Then she spoke, her voice small but steady.
"You're staring."
Giovanni raised an eyebrow.
"I was told you were rude."
Now she looked up.
Those silver eyes locked onto him instantly.
Not curious.
Not shy.
Assessing.
"I wasn't being rude," she replied calmly.
"You were," Giovanni said mildly.
She shrugged.
"Then you shouldn't stare."
Giovanni pushed himself off the doorframe and walked into the room, his footsteps quiet on the wooden floor. He crouched down across from her, lowering himself slowly like a man approaching a wary animal.
Up close, she looked even more striking.
Pale skin like porcelain.
Bright, unruly hair.
Eyes like polished steel—with something flickering in their depths.
Not fear.
Not innocence.
Something sharper.
Almost like tiny embers glowing behind the silver.
A little spitfire.
He folded his hands loosely.
"Do you know why I'm here?"
Tatum snapped another brick into place without looking up.
"No."
"Does that bother you?"
"No."
"Why not?"
Now she glanced up at him again, expression perfectly serious.
"Because if you're adopting me," she said matter-of-factly, "you already decided."
Giovanni stared at her. Then, slowly, a faint smile curved across his mouth.
"Well," he said, amused, "that's remarkably practical."
She returned to her castle.
"Also," she added thoughtfully, "you don't look nice enough to visit."
A quiet laugh slipped from Giovanni's throat.
5 years old. And already biting.
Interesting.
"What if I said I chose you because you were special?"
Tatum placed a turret onto the castle wall and leaned back slightly, examining her work like a tiny architect.
"I'd say that's suspicious."
"Why?"
"Because adults lie."
Giovanni studied her.
Most children her age craved approval.
They searched adult faces for smiles.
Praise.
Reassurance.
Tatum didn't look for any of it.
His phone vibrated in his pocket.
He sighed softly.
"Excuse me, Tatum."
She waved one small hand in the air without looking up.
"Okay."
Giovanni stood and walked a few steps toward the tall window. Rain streaked the glass in crooked lines as he pulled the phone from his pocket and answered.
His voice lowered immediately.
"Da."
A heavy, Russian voice crackled through the speaker.
Giovanni's posture shifted almost imperceptibly. His shoulders straightened. His tone hardened.
"Yes. I'm still in Ireland."
A pause.
"No. Falcone suspects nothing."
Across the room, Tatum placed another brick onto the castle wall. Click.
Another pause.
"I told you before—Dominic trusts me. I'm inside his empire."
His voice lowered further.
"That is worth far more than whatever impatience you're feeling."
He glanced over his shoulder.
The girl appeared to still be focused on her castle.
But the tower had stopped growing.
Her hands were still.
Jerry the mouse rested in her lap while she balanced Tom carefully on the turret.
Listening.
Giovanni turned slightly away again.
"Yes. I'll send shipment schedules once they're confirmed."
The Russian voice spoke again—slower this time.
Giovanni's jaw tightened.
"No," he said flatly. "I don't work for loyalty."
A beat of silence. "I work for money."
A low chuckle crackled through the phone. "Good," the Russian replied.
Giovanni ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket.
When he turned around again, Tatum was holding Tom the cat in one hand and Jerry in the other.
She placed them both carefully on the highest turret of the castle.
They stood there facing each other.
Hunter.
Prey.
Giovanni crouched down again. "Building a fortress?" he asked.
She shook her head slightly.
"No."
"What is it, then?"
"A castle."
"Who lives there?"
She lifted Tom.
"The cat."
Then Jerry.
"And the mouse."
Giovanni tilted his head slightly. "And who wins?"
Tatum considered the question. Her eyes flicked briefly toward Giovanni's coat pocket. Where the phone had been. Then she smiled. Slow. Mischievous.
"The mouse." The certainty in her voice was absolute.
Giovanni watched her quietly.
Her hands moved quickly now, reinforcing the castle walls, widening the turret where the toys stood.
Strategic.
Deliberate.
Careful.
He noticed something else then.
The ledge she'd built was just wide enough for both the cat and the mouse. But the mouse stood slightly higher.
Just enough to push the cat off if it needed to.
Yes.
There was something here.
Something sharp beneath the sarcasm and the wild hair and the tiny wooden animals.
Potential.
Giovanni leaned back slightly, studying the girl as she built. He had come here simply to acquire a useful asset.
A future weapon. A mind that could be sharpened, shaped, molded.
But as he watched the fiery-haired child reinforce the walls of her tiny kingdom, one thought settled comfortably in his mind. God had chosen well.
Because the little spitfire sitting in front of him might one day become something far more dangerous than anyone in this room realized.
And Giovanni Luciano intended to make sure of it.
But what he did not yet understand...
Was that Tatum had already been forged.
And while he believed he was raising the cat— The girl building castles on the orphanage floor had every intention of becoming the mouse that survived it.
