Chapter 7 - The Shadows of Providence
The rain returned to Rhode Island by nightfall, a heavy, cold northeastern gale that turned the Atlantic into a gray soup and lashed against the reinforced glass windows of the Falcone mansion.
Inside the master suite, the lights were turned down low. Rebecca sat by the balcony doors, watching the storm water run down the glass in long, glittering ribbons. She had tried to sleep, but the sheer size of the bed and the unfamiliar weight of the silk blankets felt like a cage.
A shadow moved in the hallway. The door didn't click, but she felt the change in the air pressure as Adriano stepped into the room. He was dressed in full tactical gear—a black Kevlar vest over his dark sweater, a heavy Beretta pistol strapped to his thigh, and an earpiece buzzing with low-frequency static from the perimeter guards.
“You should be asleep, Rebecca,” he said, staying near the threshold so his wet boots wouldn't track water onto the rug.
“I can’t,” she said, her voice small against the rumble of the thunder outside. “Every time I close my eyes, I hear the music from the garden last night. I hear those people laughing at me. I see my daughter standing there... looking so small against all those diamonds.”
Adriano walked over to the window, his eyes scanning the dark woods that bordered the estate. “Those people are gone. They will never laugh in this county again. I have revoked their business licenses, foreclosed on their construction loans, and given their names to the state revenue service. By next month, half of them will be living in houses smaller than your old room in the service wing.”
Rebecca looked up at him, her dark eyes filled with a weary, profound wisdom.
“That doesn't cure the sting, Adriano. Cruelty isn't a debt you can collect with a check. It stays in the skin. When Thomas died, the landlord didn't just evict me—he told me I was a curse because my husband had died in another man’s fire. I carried that for three years. I believed him.”
Adriano looked at her reflection in the dark glass. For all his power, all his millions, he felt completely bankrupt in front of this woman’s grief. “Thomas wasn't a curse, Rebecca. He was the only good man I ever met in thirty-seven years of living in the dark. And if I have to burn this city to the ground to make you believe that, I will start the fire myself tonight.”
The earpiece on his vest suddenly chirped with high-priority static. Frank’s voice came through, loud and sharp enough for Rebecca to hear through the quiet room.
“Boss. We have three black Suburbans breaching the southern gate. They didn't stop for the security spikes. They’ve got heavy weapons, Adriano. It’s the Lombardi crew from Brooklyn.”
Adriano’s face didn't change expression. He simply reached down, pulled the heavy Beretta from his holster, and checked the chamber with a crisp, metallic click.
“Stay under the bed with Clementine,” he told Rebecca, his voice dropping into a calm, ice-cold baseline that signaled the absolute end of peace. “Do not look out the windows. Do not open the door for anyone unless they say the word Wheeling. Do you understand me, Rebecca?”
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“Adriano...” she gasped, her hand reaching out to catch his sleeve. “Don't die. Don't let Thomas’s sacrifice be for nothing.”
Adriano looked down at her hand on his dark wool sleeve, his ice-cold eyes softening for one fraction of a second. “Thomas saved my life so I could protect yours, Rebecca. I am not going to let him down twice.”
