Chapter 2 - Blood and Silver
The air inside Giordano's had grew cold.
Sal led Corsica, Paxton, and the children to the private back room behind the kitchen—a room fortified with reinforced steel doors and soundproofed walls, where the Marchetti family handled matters that could never see the light of day.
Nero stretched out across the Persian rug at Corsica's feet, his massive head resting on his paws, though his dark eyes stayed pinned on Paxton. Letty and Ros sat on a small velvet sofa across from Corsica, staring at her in spellbound silence. To the two little girls, looking at Corsica was like watching a ghost walk out of their father's hidden nightstand photos.
"Explain," Paxton commanded, standing by the dark mahogany bookshelf, his arms crossed over his chest. His voice was hard, but the crack in his composure was visible to anyone who knew him. "Sal, you told me Celeste was an only child when I married her ten years ago."
Sal sat heavily in his armchair, looking every one of his seventy-four years. He stared at the two matching halves of the silver watch sitting side by side on the glass coffee table between them. Fitted together, they formed a complete, unbroken crest—the crest of the original North End syndicate that had governed Boston’s underworld fifty years ago.
"I had to lie, Paxton," Sal said softly, not daring to look up. "To protect both of them. Thirty years ago, when my wife died giving birth to twins, the Irish mob—led by Malachy Brennan—demanded a tribute to settle the territory wars. They wanted one of my daughters to raise as leverage. A hostage to guarantee the peace between Southie and the North End."
Corsica gripped the arms of her chair. "Tommy Brennan... he wasn't my uncle?"
"Tommy was Malachy’s younger brother," Sal explained, his voice shaking. "He was a good man trapped in a terrible family. Tommy took you when you were a baby to keep his brother from using you as a pawn. He raised you in secret, far away from Southie, hiding you in rural Maine. But when Malachy found out Tommy was keeping you, he set fire to the cabin. That was six years ago."
Corsica’s breath hitched. She reached up instinctively, her fingers brushing the dark hair over the left side of her face—where the subtle, faded scars of chemical burns hid beneath her locks.
"The fire," Corsica whispered. "That's how I lost my sight. Tommy dragged me out of the flames, but the chemicals from the workshop burned my eyes."
Paxton’s chest tightened with a brutal pang of sympathy and rage. He looked at her dark glasses, suddenly understanding the tragedy that had trailed her every step.
"Malachy Brennan believed Tommy died in that fire," Sal continued. "Tommy took you into deep hiding under the name Brennan. But three years ago, something went terribly wrong. Celeste discovered she had a twin sister. She found old records in my safe here at the restaurant."
Paxton took a step forward, his heart hammering. "Celeste knew?"
"She found out right before she died," Sal admitted, tears finally spilling over his wrinkled cheeks. "Celeste hired a private investigator to track down Tommy and Corsica. But someone intercepted her communications. Someone inside your own organization, Paxton. Three days after Celeste made contact with Tommy, her car was bombed at the harbor."
A suffocating darkness settled over Paxton’s face. "The harbor explosion wasn't a territorial hit by the syndicate. It was an assassination to keep Celeste from finding her sister."
"And to keep the two halves of that watch from ever reuniting," Sal said, pointing at the table. "Because whoever holds the complete watch controls the dormant Swiss trust left behind by the old bosses—a fund containing over forty million dollars, meant for the true bloodline of the Giordano family."
Ros stood up from the sofa. She walked slowly across the rug, her small navy-blue shoes making no sound, until she stood right beside Corsica’s knee.
Nero lifted his head, but seeing the child, he simply let out a long sigh and lowered his chin back down.
Ros reached out her tiny hand and gently touched Corsica’s dark wool coat, right over the swell of her belly.
"Is there a baby in there?" Ros asked softly, her voice full of innocent wonder.
Corsica froze, then a soft, tender smile broke across her pale lips. "Yes," she murmured, lowering her hand to rest over Ros’s fingers. "A little girl."
Letty scrambled off the sofa and joined her sister, looking up at Corsica with wide, teardrop eyes. "Are you our auntie? Or are you Mommy’s twin angel?"
Corsica felt a tear slip from beneath her black glasses. "I think... I think I'm your auntie, sweetheart."
Paxton looked at the woman sitting before him—the living twin of his lost love, carrying a child, hunted by the same shadows that had stolen his wife. He looked at his daughters clinging to her side.
"Gideon," Paxton said, his voice turning to absolute ice as he turned to his underboss. "Double the guards at the estate. Nobody leaves Giordano's without a six-man escort. The people who killed Celeste are going to realize Corsica is in Boston by nightfall."
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"What are you going to do, Paxton?" Gideon asked quietly.
Paxton stared at Corsica, his hazel eyes burning with a dark, uncompromising vow. "I failed to protect my wife three years ago. I will tear this city to the ground before I let anyone touch her sister."
