Chapter 5 - SALVATORE CAME HOME
Salvatore Falcone arrived that evening without invitation.
Seventy-one.
Silver hair.
Camel coat.
Walking stick he did not need.
He entered Falcone Manor like the deed still had his name on it.
I was in the kitchen.
Roman had told me I could leave.
I stayed.
My choice.
Salvatore found us in the library.
Roman.
Declan.
Gabriel.
Mrs. Hess.
Me.
His eyes stopped on my face.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
“You have Eleanor’s eyes.”
Every nerve in my body tightened.
Roman stood.
“You knew who she was?”
Salvatore ignored him.
“How old are you?”
I almost laughed.
“Apparently nobody in this family starts with hello.”
His expression sharpened.
“You're Maeve.”
“Yes.”
Then:
“Your mother ruined this family.”
Declan moved.
Roman lifted one hand.
Stay.
Salvatore continued:
“She was a thief.”
“No.”
“She seduced your father’s sympathy, manipulated Lucia and stole confidential records.”
I stared.
“You left out the twenty-two million.”
His face barely changed.
Good control.
Not perfect.
Roman saw.
“So you know about the ledger.”
Salvatore looked at his nephew.
“I know about accusations invented by desperate women.”
Something inside me cooled.
“My mother died poor.”
“Because she spent badly.”
I stepped toward him.
Roman said quietly:
“Maeve.”
Not an order.
A warning.
To me?
Or Salvatore?
I stopped.
Salvatore smiled.
“She trained you well.”
Roman’s voice sharpened.
“Enough.”
Salvatore turned.
“You're believing a maid over blood?”
There it was.
The sentence that had protected him for fifteen years.
Roman looked at his uncle.
“No.”
Salvatore almost relaxed.
Then Roman continued:
“I’m believing records over blood.”
Silence.
Declan smiled without humor.
Gabriel leaned against the fireplace.
Salvatore’s expression hardened.
“Your father knew Eleanor was guilty.”
Roman placed Mom’s letter on the desk.
“Our father believed she was innocent.”
That landed.
For the first time, Salvatore looked genuinely uncertain.
Roman continued:
“He visited her.”
“No.”
“You didn't know.”
The old man recovered.
“Eleanor lied.”
“Then we verify.”
Salvatore looked toward me again.
“You should take your sister and leave Boston.”
I felt cold.
Same threat.
New generation.
Roman stepped between us.
“Do not speak to her again.”
Salvatore smiled.
“And there he is.”
“What?”
“The boy trying to prove he isn't Vittorio.”
Roman did not react.
Salvatore walked toward the door.
Before leaving, he said:
“If you dig through the dead long enough, eventually they start telling stories about you too.”
Roman replied:
“Good.”
Salvatore stopped.
“We’ll listen.”
That night Falcone security discovered someone had accessed Maeve Carter’s agency file three hours before Salvatore arrived.
Address.
Sister.
Debt.
Everything Gabriel had dug up as part of his stupid test.
He looked sick when Enzo—the security chief—showed us.
“My search created that file.”
“Yes,” I said.
Nobody rescued him from the truth.
Gabriel looked at me.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“I investigated your poverty because I thought it would scare you.”
I said nothing.
“Now Salvatore has the information because our systems treat invasive curiosity as normal.”
Exactly.
Roman looked at his brothers.
The forty-eight-hour game was over.
May you like
Not temporarily.
Forever.
