Chapter 2 - The Name in the File
Marcus Hale did not answer immediately.
He stood near Adrian’s desk, hands folded behind his back, studying the man he had known since they were boys.
For fifteen years, Marcus had watched Adrian Moretti make decisions that changed lives.
He had watched him order men removed from Chicago without ever raising his voice.
He had watched him sit through funerals without crying.
He had watched him become Stone.
But now Adrian was standing by the window of his office, staring out at the dead eastern garden.
“I asked you a question,” Adrian said.
Marcus’s eyes narrowed. “Does Sofia know you’re looking into her life?”
“No.”
“Then why are you?”
Adrian turned around.
For a moment, Marcus saw something unfamiliar in his friend’s expression.
Guilt.
“She and the child are hungry,” Adrian said.
Marcus waited.
“And?”
“And I need to know why.”
Marcus nodded once. “I’ll be careful.”
“No one touches them.”
“I know.”
“No one questions Sofia. No one scares her.”
Marcus’s jaw tightened. “Adrian, if there’s danger around her—”
“There isn’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
Adrian looked toward the garden again.
“That little girl waters dead flowers before sunrise,” he said quietly. “Whatever danger exists in her life, she didn’t bring it to this house.”
Marcus said nothing.
He knew better than to argue when Adrian spoke that way.
By midnight, the first report arrived.
Sofia Romano had grown up in Bridgeport, the daughter of a waitress and a construction worker. Her mother had died from cancer when Sofia was seventeen. At twenty-one, Sofia married Luca Romano, a mechanic with a small garage in Cicero.
Luca had no criminal record.
No outstanding debts.
No known enemies.
Then, eighteen months ago, he had been killed in what police ruled an accidental fire at his garage.
Adrian read the report twice.
“Accidental?” he asked.
Marcus stood across from him, silent.
“The building inspector called it faulty wiring,” Marcus continued. “But the fire started in the office. Luca was found near the back exit.”
“Why was he in the office?”
“Because someone called him there.”
Adrian’s eyes lifted slowly.
Marcus placed another photo on the desk.
It showed Luca Romano standing outside his garage beside a black sedan.
The photo was grainy, taken from a traffic camera.
But Adrian recognized the man beside Luca.
Vincent Barone.
A former lieutenant of the Moretti organization.
A man Adrian had exiled three years earlier for skimming money and selling information to rival crews.
“Barone is dead,” Adrian said.
“Officially,” Marcus replied.
Adrian’s fingers tightened around the edge of the desk.
“Find out who really started that fire.”
Marcus nodded.
Then he hesitated.
“There’s something else.”
Adrian’s expression hardened.
“Sofia has been receiving cash payments from an unknown source. Small amounts. Two hundred dollars here. Three hundred there. Always in envelopes. No return address.”
“Extortion?”
“Possibly.”
“Or someone trying to keep her quiet.”
Marcus looked down at the photograph again.
“Luca may have seen something he wasn’t supposed to see before he died.”
Adrian felt cold.
Three years ago, the car bomb that killed Elena and Claire had been tied to information leaks inside his organization.
Vincent Barone had disappeared weeks before the explosion.
If Luca Romano had been connected to Barone—
No.
Adrian pushed the thought away.
Sofia was not Elena.
Emma was not Claire.
And he would not allow fear to poison another innocent life.
The next morning, Adrian entered the kitchen earlier than usual.
Rosa was chopping vegetables. Sofia stood near the sink, washing a tray of silverware. Emma sat on her stool in the pantry doorway, hugging Daisy.
When Adrian appeared, Sofia straightened immediately.
“Good morning, Mr. Moretti.”
Her voice was polite but guarded.
He noticed the dark circles beneath her eyes.
He noticed that her left sleeve had been stitched at the cuff.
He noticed Emma’s shoes were too small.
“Good morning,” he said.
Rosa stopped chopping.
Sofia looked surprised.
Adrian walked toward the pantry.
Emma looked up at him.
“Did the flowers drink their water?” she asked.
Sofia’s face changed instantly.
“Emma,” she whispered. “You don’t ask Mr. Moretti questions like that.”
“It’s all right,” Adrian said.
He crouched slightly so he was closer to Emma’s eye level.
“They did,” he told her. “They were very thirsty.”
Emma smiled.
Then she lifted Daisy toward him.
“Daisy says thank you too.”
Something tightened in Adrian’s chest.
He looked at Sofia.
“Your daughter has been going into the eastern garden.”
Sofia went pale.
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I told her not to. I didn’t know she was going there. I’ll make sure it never happens again.”
Adrian saw fear in her eyes.
Not fear of losing her job.
Fear of what he might do.
The realization made him sick.
“No,” Adrian said.
Sofia blinked.
“She can go there.”
“Mr. Moretti—”
“She can go there,” he repeated. “But she needs shoes. Proper shoes.”
Sofia’s pride flared.
“I can handle my daughter’s needs.”
“I know.”
The answer stopped her.
Adrian stood.
“This is not charity, Sofia. Consider it an advance on your wages.”
She looked at him carefully, as though waiting for the hidden price.
There was none.
For the first time in years, Adrian Moretti wanted someone to believe that.
But later that night, when Sofia and Emma returned to their apartment in Cicero, an envelope waited beneath their door.
Sofia froze before picking it up.
Inside was a photograph.
It showed Emma walking alone outside the Moretti estate.
Across the back, someone had written four words in black ink.
ASK ABOUT LUCA’S FIRE.
And below that:
May you like
KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT.
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