Chapter 2
The heavy, arched garden doors at the edge of the stone patio unexpectedly clicked and swung open. The heavy wood groaned against the hinges, a sound that instantly cut through the polite murmurs of the forty guests.
Salvatore Carbone had returned early from his Mafia council meeting in the city.
He stepped into the bright, cinematic sunlight, and the entire patio immediately fell into a deathly, suffocating silence. Salvatore was thirty-two years old, and devastatingly handsome—masculine and distinctly Boss-like, resembling a classic movie star. His thick, slightly wavy dark hair was naturally slicked back, though a few loose strands fell effortlessly over his forehead, giving him a charming yet dangerous romantic look. His angular face featured a high-bridged nose, a sharply defined jawline, and extremely short, neatly trimmed stubble across his fair, rosy skin.
He wore a dark, expensive suit, the dress shirt unbuttoned at the chest to reveal artistic, refined tattoos on his neck. The ink was sharply designed with enough negative space to avoid looking cluttered, placed just perfectly to create an attractive, lethal edge. Similar tattoos marked his hands and fingers.
Salvatore stopped cold. His sharp, intimidating eyes locked onto the scene by the stone planter.
"What," Salvatore said, his voice dropping into a slow, measured cadence, keeping the volume terrifyingly low, "is going on here?"
"Salvatore," Hattie gasped, her American accent losing its confident lilt. She instinctively dropped the metal chain. "You weren't supposed to be back until midnight."
Salvatore ignored her. He crossed the stone patio with long, purposeful strides. The crowd parted for him like the Red Sea, the guests holding their breath. He reached his mother, knelt with absolute grace, and gently removed the decorative chain from Adelaide’s neck. He helped the frail woman to her feet, placing her safely behind his broad shoulders.
Before anyone could speak, small, quick footsteps echoed on the stone. Three-year-old Ella Carbone, wearing an elegant summer dress and tiny flats, ran out from the crowd of frozen adults. Her fair, rosy cheeks were stained with tears. She threw her arms around Adelaide’s legs, gripping her grandmother’s hand tightly.
"Dad…" Ella cried, looking up at Salvatore with wide, terrified eyes. "Grandma hasn’t eaten for six days. They wouldn't let her."
Salvatore’s cold eyes shifted from his daughter’s tear-streaked face back to Hattie and Nolan. He did not yell. He did not raise his voice. Every word he spoke was a measured, dangerous threat.
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"Six days," Salvatore repeated slowly, pausing deliberately between the words. "You starved my mother. In my own home."
Nolan shifted his weight, forcing a smile. "Now, Sal, let's not overreact. We were just asking her some vital family questions."
