The message had come from a contact saved in Adrian's phone as "Little Fool Pig." The photograph showed Serafina sitting in a hospital emergency room, hair falling loose from its pins, mascara faintly smudged beneath one eye, yet still smiling wide at the camera and flashing a peace sign. Her caption read: Take your time on the way here, drive safely. I'll be waiting for you.
That was when I realized. I let out a self-deprecating smile. So, that was the reason Adrian had left in such a haste. The urgency in his movements, the way he hadn't even bothered to check his pockets before the door slammed behind him. All of it had been for her. I called a local courier service to have his phone sent to his office at the Falcone family's shipping front on the waterfront. Afterward, I went straight to work.
Since graduating, I had been working at the Moretti family's legitimate side of operations. My father, Rowan Moretti, wanted to toughen me up, so he made me start at the very bottom as an entry-level employee at one of the family's restaurant fronts, learning the books, the suppliers, the quiet choreography of a business that had to withstand scrutiny from both accountants and federal auditors. Years of hard work and proving myself paid off. I was now the trusted keeper of the family's flagship front, a position I had earned through my own abilities, not my surname. Every capo who walked through the door knew the distinction. As soon as I arrived at the office that morning, my assistant walked up to me and handed me a file. "Good morning, ma'am. Here's a document that needs your approval. All the processes are complete; we just need your signature to finalize it."
I took the file and scanned its contents. It was a joint operation with the Falcone Group, a supply-chain arrangement routed through one of their import companies. Yet, for some reason, I couldn't recall ever hearing about this particular deal.
"Is everything all right, ma'am? Should we go ahead?" my assistant asked, noticing my hesitation.
"No!" My response was sharp and immediate, causing her to look startled. But she quickly recovered her composure and hesitated before adding, "Didn't you say that unless it's a very important arrangement, the first choice should always be the Falcone Group?"
I had indeed given such instructions, back when I was still naively optimistic about my future with Adrian. At the time, I thought our families would eventually unite, and whether his operation earned more or mine did hardly seemed to matter. I trusted him so completely that I didn't bother scrutinizing projects that involved the Falcone name. My thumb found the edge of my wedding band, pressing once against the cool metal before I stilled my hand and set it flat against the desk. "Let's pass on this one. But from now on, we'll make sure to choose the best option. The family's interests come first," I said, and signed the document with a line so clean it could have been drawn with a blade.
The workday flew by, and when I finally finished, I was starving. I had planned to try the new restaurant that had just opened across town, a place with no family ties, no territorial strings, just good food in neutral territory. But when I arrived, I found it packed with people, the line spilling past the entrance and onto the sidewalk. Just as I was about to leave, I heard a familiar voice calling me.
"Ms. Moretti, over here!"
