Claudia Ventresca violently ripped the flowering plant from four-year-old Ruby’s gardening-gloved hands

The rhythmic, metallic scrape of the shovels biting into the earth was the only sound in the memorial garden. Alessio stood perfectly still, his hands clasped behind his back, watching his men meticulously excavate the narrow strip of soil beside the greenhouse wall. The warm afternoon sun cast long, condemning shadows across the terrace.

Evelyn stood close to Alessio, her small hands nervously twisting the fabric of her summer dress. Alessio glanced down at her, his hardened expression softening just a fraction. He placed a heavy, reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"You did the right thing, Evelyn," he murmured. "Bravery is rarely easy."

Evelyn nodded silently, unable to tear her eyes away from the growing hole in the dirt.

On the ground, Marco Hale groaned, his eyelids fluttering open. He spat a mouthful of blood and loose teeth onto the overturned potting soil. He tried to push himself up, but a sharp kick to the ribs from one of the bodyguards sent him sprawling flat on his back again.

"Stay down, Marco," Alessio advised, his voice dangerously calm. "Unless you want me to finish what I started."

Marco gasped for air, clutching his shattered jaw. He looked frantically toward the men digging, then shot a venomous glare at Claudia. "You stupid bitch. I told you we should have burned the box and dumped the ashes in the river."

"If we destroyed it, we would have had no leverage against the New York families!" Claudia shrieked back, her elegant facade completely destroyed. "It was our insurance policy!"

"Insurance for what?" Alessio demanded, stepping toward them. "What did you do, Claudia?"

Before she could answer, a loud, hollow CLANG rang out across the garden.

Gianni stopped digging. He leaned his weight on the shovel handle and looked up at Alessio. "Hit something solid, Boss. Sounds like steel."

"Pull it out," Alessio commanded.

The two bodyguards dropped to their knees in the dirt. They swept the loose, damp soil away with their gloved hands, revealing the top of a heavy, industrial steel lockbox. It was caked in mud, but the heavy brass padlocks securing the latches were unmistakable. Grunting with effort, the two men heaved the box out of the hole and dropped it heavily onto one of the surviving wooden planting tables.

Alessio stepped up to the table, his towering frame casting a shadow over the muddy box. He stared at it for a long time. This dirt was sacred to him. It was where his wife had spent her final days, finding peace among the blooms before the sickness took her. To know that these two traitors had desecrated this ground to hide their filth made the blood roar in his ears.

"Open it," Alessio said.

"It’s padlocked, Boss," Gianni noted, gripping the brass locks.

Alessio didn't blink. "Then break them."

Gianni nodded. He raised his steel spade high above his head and brought the heavy, flat edge down brutally on the brass padlocks. Sparks flew. He struck it again, and then a third time, until the brass shattered and the locking mechanisms gave way with a sharp crack.

Alessio waved his men back. He reached out with his bare hands, his signet ring catching the sunlight, and grabbed the muddy latches. He threw them open and slowly lifted the heavy steel lid of the box.

Inside, wrapped securely in layers of thick, waterproof oilcloth, was a stack of black leather-bound ledgers. Beside them rested a silenced semi-automatic pistol, its metal gleaming coldly against the dark fabric. But it was the object sitting on top of the ledgers that made the breath catch in Alessio’s throat.

It was a delicate, silver locket. A locket in the shape of a blooming rose.

Alessio reached into the box and picked it up. The silver was cold against his palm. He knew this locket. He had bought it for his wife on their tenth anniversary. She had been wearing it the night she was supposedly killed in a random, tragic crossfire downtown three years ago. The police had never recovered it.