Chapter 3 - THE MEMORY OF THOMAS
Adriano turned to his head of security, a thick-necked man named Dominic who had stood guard near the terrace doors.
“Dominic,” Adriano ordered.
“Boss?”
“Take my wife to her quarters. Remove her jewelry. Take her phone. Place two men outside her door. She does not leave that room until I decide what to do with her.”
Genevieve gasped, her eyes wide with outrage. “Adriano! You can’t do this to me! My father is—!”
“Your father exists because I allow him to operate his docks,” Adriano cut her off without looking at her. “Dominic. Take her.”
Dominic stepped forward, his expression emotionless. “This way, Mrs. Falcone.”
Genevieve looked at Adriano, then at Rebecca sitting wet on the floor, and realized with a wave of sickening terror that something far beyond a spilled glass was happening tonight. She turned and walked inside, guarded by two armed men.
The garden was empty now, except for Adriano, Rebecca, and Clementine.
Rebecca was trembling so hard her teeth chattered. She held Clementine tightly against her wet chest, expecting the hammer to fall on her next.
“Mr. Falcone...” Rebecca whispered, tears filling her eyes. “Please. I’ll pack our things. We’ll leave tonight. Just... please don't hurt my daughter.”
Adriano looked at her, his expression softening into a look of profound, unbearable pain.
He took off his custom wool suit jacket and stepped forward. He knelt beside Rebecca and wrapped the heavy, warm jacket around her wet shoulders. It smelled of expensive cedar, fine tobacco, and rain.
“You aren't leaving, Rebecca,” Adriano said gently.
He looked down at Clementine, who was staring at his scarred jaw with wide, curious eyes.
“What is your name, little one?” Adriano asked the child.
“Clementine,” she whispered, burying her face slightly in the lapel of Adriano’s jacket. “Clementine Hail.”
Adriano swallowed hard. His throat felt dry, like ash.
“Hail,” he repeated. “Your daddy was Thomas?”
Rebecca froze. Her heart stopped beating for a full second. She looked up into Adriano’s dark eyes, her breath catching in her throat.
“How... how do you know Thomas’s name?” Rebecca asked, her voice barely audible over the night wind. “Thomas was an electrician from West Virginia. He died three years ago.”
Adriano closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, there were dark tears glistening in the corners.
“Thomas didn't die in a roadside accident, Rebecca,” Adriano whispered.
Rebecca felt the world tilt beneath her. The terrace, the mansion, the pool—everything seemed to spin out of focus.
“What?” she breathed.
“Three years ago, on a dirt road outside Pittsburgh,” Adriano said, his voice raw with a grief he had carried in secret for thirty-six months, “my car was ambushed by six men from the Moretti syndicate. My driver was killed instantly. I was shot twice in the chest. My car flipped into the ravine and caught fire.”
He looked directly into Rebecca’s eyes.
“I was burning alive inside that steel frame, Rebecca. My legs were pinned. I couldn't move. The Moretti men were coming down the hill to finish me.”
Rebecca listened, her eyes wide, her hand clutching Clementine’s small back.
“A pickup truck stopped on the shoulder,” Adriano continued, his hand trembling as he touched Clementine’s brown curls. “A young man with motor oil on his work shirt jumped down into the ravine with an iron crowbar. He didn't know who I was. He didn't know I was a mob boss. He just saw a man burning in a car.”
Tears spilled over Rebecca’s lashes. “Thomas...”
“Thomas pried my door open,” Adriano whispered. “He pulled me out of the flames. He carried my heavy, bloody body up the mud slope on his back. As he reached the top, the gas tank exploded... and the Moretti men fired into the smoke.”
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Adriano’s jaw tightened, his scar turning stark white.
“A stray bullet caught Thomas in the back,” Adriano said, his voice breaking. “He shielded me with his own body as he fell. By the time my security detail arrived ninety seconds later... Thomas was gone.”
