Chapter 4 - THE STOLEN BOOTS
The fire snapped and hissed in the stone hearth, casting long, dancing shadows across Valente’s face. The silence in the cabin felt heavier than the bomb that had leveled the restaurant.
Ruby pulled Lily tighter against her side. "His name was Michael. Michael Vance. He was a mechanic. He died in his sleep when I was fifteen."
Valente paced to the window, staring out into the black, rain-soaked woods. "Michael Vance. The police report from twenty years ago said the getaway driver for my father’s murder was an unidentified mechanic. They said he vanished."
"My father wasn't a murderer!" Ruby snapped, her protective instincts flaring over her fear of the man in front of her. "He worked twelve-hour shifts at a garage in Southie to pay for my braces. He was a good man!"
"Good men do desperate things when they owe the wrong people," Valente said softly, turning back to face her. The anger in his eyes had faded into a profound, exhausted sorrow. "My father was gunned down in an alley. The killer took the rosary as proof of death. If your father had this rosary... he didn't just drive the car. He knew who pulled the trigger."
Ruby looked down at the wooden beads resting in Lily’s small palm. Her entire childhood felt like a house of cards collapsing in the wind. Her father had always been paranoid, always keeping the deadbolts locked, never allowing them to take photographs.
"The man who tore up our house," Lily piped up suddenly, her small voice cutting through the tension. She rubbed her eyes. "He was on the phone. He said he couldn't find the beads, and that the new boss was going to be mad."
Valente’s jaw locked. "Silas. Silas is looking for the rosary."
Before Valente could explain, the heavy oak door of the cabin swung open. Three of Valente’s armed guards stepped inside, flanking a tall, impeccably dressed man.
He wore a tailored camel hair coat and a silk tie. His face was a slightly softer, younger version of Valente’s, but his eyes lacked the cold discipline. They were bright, ambitious, and currently sweeping the room with calculated concern.
Silas Carmine had arrived.
"Valente! Thank God," Silas rushed forward, grasping Valente’s shoulders. "When I heard about the restaurant, my heart stopped. The police found Davis in an alley downtown. Two bullets in the back of the head. It’s the Moretti family, Valente. They’re making a play for the city."
Valente did not embrace his brother. He stood perfectly still, his eyes locked onto Silas’s face.
"The Morettis," Valente repeated smoothly. "You're sure."
"Who else?" Silas urged, his voice thick with fake outrage. "We need to strike back tonight. I have men ready to hit their warehouses on the docks. Just give the word, brother."
Ruby watched the exchange from the sofa. She pulled the blanket tighter around Lily. As Silas stepped closer to the fire, Ruby’s eyes dropped to his feet.
Silas was wearing custom, dark brown leather boots.
Ruby’s breath caught in her throat.
Three weeks ago, Ruby had been taking the trash out behind her apartment building in the pouring rain. A man had been standing in the shadows of the alley, watching her window. When he stepped back, the streetlamp had briefly illuminated his shoes. Custom brown leather boots with a distinct, silver buckle shaped like a crescent moon.
Ruby stared at the exact same silver buckles gleaming in the firelight on Silas’s boots.
Silas hadn't just sent Tommy the busboy to toss her apartment tonight. Silas had been stalking her family for weeks.
Ruby slowly met Valente’s eyes over Silas’s shoulder. She didn't speak. She didn't have to. She gave a microscopic nod toward Silas’s boots, then looked back at Valente with sheer terror in her eyes.
Valente’s gaze flicked to his brother's boots, then back to Ruby. The hardened mafia boss understood immediately.
Valente smiled at his brother, a cold, terrifying expression that did not reach his eyes.
"You're right, Silas," Valente said smoothly. "We must retaliate. But first, there is a package I need you to open for me. It was delivered here just before you arrived."
Valente gestured to a small, blood-stained cardboard box sitting on the entryway table.
Silas frowned, stepping toward the table. "What is it?"
"Open it," Valente commanded.
Silas cut the packing tape with a pocket knife and flipped the lid open. He recoiled violently, a gag escaping his throat.
Inside the box was a severed human hand.
But it wasn't the gore that made Silas pale. It was the heavy gold ring on the ring finger.
"That's Davis's hand," Valente whispered, stepping up closely behind his brother. "But you already knew he was dead, didn't you, Silas? Because the Morettis didn't send this box. I did. My men found Davis at the docks before your cleaner could finish the job."
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Silas spun around, reaching for his weapon, but Valente was faster. In a blur of motion, Valente’s gun was drawn and pressed directly beneath his brother’s chin.
"Where is the detonator, Silas?" Valente hissed.
