Chapter 3 - THE SHADOW OF THE PAST
The transition from the bleak, overcrowded ward of St. Catherine's to the penthouse suite at Mount Sinai was jarring, like stepping from purgatory straight into paradise. Sarah lay in a plush, motorized bed, surrounded by state-of-the-art monitoring equipment and floral arrangements that smelled like a spring morning. Her pneumonia was severe, compounded by exhaustion and malnutrition, but the top-tier medical team assured Adrian she would make a full recovery.
Mia, meanwhile, had claimed a leather armchair in the corner of the room, her feet swinging inches above the floor. She was meticulously coloring a picture book Marcus had awkwardly purchased from the hospital gift shop.
Adrian stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out over the glittering Manhattan skyline. His mind, usually occupied with shipping routes, union bosses, and territorial disputes, was entirely focused on the fragile family behind him. It was a dangerous distraction. In his line of work, attachments were vulnerabilities. His enemies—the Romanos, the Russian syndicates, the corrupt politicians—would exploit any perceived weakness.
Marcus entered the room silently, holding a manila folder. He approached Adrian and spoke in a low murmur, ensuring the sleeping Sarah and the busy Mia wouldn't hear.
"Background check is complete, Boss," Marcus said. "Sarah Carter. Twenty-eight. Widowed. Husband died in a construction accident three years ago. The company went bankrupt, left her with nothing. She’s been working three jobs just to keep a roof over their heads."
"And the roof?" Adrian asked, his eyes still fixed on the city lights.
"An absolute dump in the Bronx," Marcus grimaced. "Black mold in the walls, no central heating. It’s no wonder she got sick. But that’s not the worst part, sir."
Adrian finally turned. "Go on."
"The building is owned by a shell corporation. We traced it back. It belongs to the Romano family. Specifically, Tommy Romano. And Sarah is behind on her rent. Way behind. She owes them five grand. Tommy's collectors have been visiting the apartment. Leaving threats."
A dangerous silence settled over Adrian. The air in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. Tommy Romano was a volatile, bloodthirsty underboss who had been encroaching on Moretti territory for months. To know that this ruthless animal was terrorizing the woman whose child had bravely scrubbed his bookcase awakened a dormant, savage fury within Adrian.
"Does Tommy know she works for me through the cleaning agency?" Adrian asked, his voice a lethal whisper.
"Not yet," Marcus replied. "But his collectors are aggressive. If they find out she's hospitalized, they might try to leverage the kid."
Adrian looked over at Mia. The little girl had fallen asleep, her cheek pressed against the coloring book, a purple crayon still clutched in her hand. She looked so small, so devastatingly fragile in the sterile luxury of the hospital room.
"Post guards at both doors, Marcus. No one gets on this floor without my explicit authorization," Adrian commanded. "And send a team to the Bronx apartment. Pack up everything they own that has sentimental value. Burn the rest. They are never going back there."
"And the Romanos?" Marcus asked, anticipating the violence.
"Let them come," Adrian said, his eyes turning to cold, hard obsidian. "If Tommy Romano thinks he can threaten what is under my protection, I will gladly remind him why the Moretti name is spoken in whispers."
Just then, Mia stirred. She rubbed her eyes, slipped out of the large chair, and padded softly across the room to Adrian. She looked up at him, entirely unafraid of the darkness that had just shadowed his face.
"Adrian?" she asked, her voice groggy. "Are you going to beat up the bad men?"
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Adrian crouched down, smoothing a stray braid away from her forehead. He didn't ask how she knew about the 'bad men.' Children of poverty always knew when the wolves were circling.
"I'm going to make sure the bad men never bother you or your mother ever again, Mia," he promised. "That's a guarantee."
