Chapter 13 - THE REVENGE ADRIANO CHOSE
The old Adriano would have declared war that night.
Every captain summoned.
Every suspected house watched.
Every rival pressured.
Every family member forced to choose.
That was what the Custodian expected.
Instead Adriano did something that shocked Bellacorte more.
Nothing.
For forty-eight hours.
He stayed home.
Ate breakfast with Sophia and Elena.
Walked the estate.
Spoke to staff individually.
No threats.
No shouting.
No public revenge.
Fear moved through the family because no one understood him.
That was useful.
Elena noticed.
“You’re enjoying this.”
“A little.”
She almost smiled.
It was the first moment between them that resembled their old marriage.
Then reality returned.
“You still want the five names.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll give you three.”
Adriano frowned.
“Why three?”
“Because I eliminated one.”
“Who?”
“Victoria.”
He looked toward the window.
“You suspected her.”
“Yes.”
“Now?”
“She was compromised. Used. Guilty of plenty.”
“But not Custodian.”
“No.”
“And Lucian?”
“One of the remaining four.”
Adriano’s expression changed.
Elena continued before he reacted.
“I said possibility.”
“Names.”
“Lucian. Salvatore. Anthony.”
Adriano stared.
“And the fourth?”
Elena looked toward him.
“Margaret.”
He almost laughed.
“The seamstress helping you.”
“Yes.”
“You trust her.”
“I trust what she has done. Not what she might have been.”
Adriano appreciated the distinction.
“Which one do you believe?”
“Salvatore.”
“Why?”
“He disappears at exactly the right moments.”
“Too obvious.”
“Sometimes obvious is only obvious after years of people refusing to look.”
Adriano thought.
Anthony had been with him since his twenties.
Lucian entered the family through marriage.
Margaret had hidden Nico.
Salvatore stood beside every generation.
The oldest continuity.
Closest to the empty throne.
Adriano did not summon any of them.
Instead he spread a rumor.
Sophia had been moved out of the estate.
Only four people received four different destinations.
Lucian heard Connecticut.
Anthony heard Manhattan.
Margaret heard Boston.
A message was sent where Salvatore could plausibly hear that Sophia was going to Montreal.
Then Adriano waited.
Six hours later, unknown men appeared near a private airfield outside Montreal.
Salvatore’s location.
Elena stared at the report.
“So it’s him.”
Adriano shook his head.
“Maybe.”
She almost smiled.
“You finally learned that word.”
He ignored her.
The men at the airfield could be following Salvatore’s false information.
But did Salvatore knowingly send them?
They needed more.
Adriano contacted Lorenzo.
“Call whoever replaced you.”
Lorenzo laughed.
“If I could call them—”
“You can.”
Silence.
Adriano continued.
“You were Custodian thirteen years. Positions like that don’t disappear without an emergency channel.”
Lorenzo stared.
Then slowly nodded.
One number.
Never saved.
Memorized.
He called.
A male voice answered.
“Old kings should remain dead.”
Lorenzo looked at Adriano.
No recognition.
“Where is Salvatore?”
The voice laughed.
“With the child.”
Adriano’s expression did not change.
Sophia was upstairs.
Safe.
The voice had accepted the false Montreal story.
Good.
Lorenzo continued.
“You chose poorly.”
“Did I?”
“What happens when Adriano learns who you are?”
“He already knows enough to hate half his house.”
That was the plan.
Confusion.
Adriano leaned toward the phone.
“Not anymore.”
Silence.
The voice recognized him.
“Adriano.”
“Tell Salvatore Montreal is cold this time of year.”
The line went dead.
Anthony immediately tracked the call through a relay chain arranged by Bellacorte technicians.
Not exact.
Enough.
An old theater in Brooklyn.
Adriano stood.
Elena caught his arm.
“No.”
He looked at her.
“You promised yourself.”
“I promised Sophia.”
“You’re going.”
“Yes.”
“Revenge?”
Adriano shook his head.
“Answers.”
“And if Salvatore is there?”
He looked at her.
“I bring him home alive.”
Elena studied him.
Then released his arm.
At the theater, Adriano found no army.
No Custodian.
Only Salvatore sitting alone on the stage.
His cane across his knees.
Adriano stopped.
“You leaked Montreal.”
Salvatore nodded.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I needed the Custodian to believe I was still useful.”
Adriano stared.
“You work for him.”
“I worked near him.”
“Difference?”
“Enough to keep your daughter alive.”
Adriano’s jaw tightened.
“Everyone keeps saying they protected my child while putting her in danger.”
Salvatore looked tired.
“I know.”
“Who is Custodian?”
Salvatore shook his head.
“I never saw the face.”
“Voice?”
“Changed.”
“Then what do you know?”
Salvatore reached inside his coat.
Adriano’s guard tensed.
The old man removed a silver bell.
Initials:
R.D.
Roman D’Angelo.
Adriano’s dead consigliere.
“Roman was Custodian?”
“No.”
Salvatore placed the bell down.
“He found him.”
“Who?”
May you like
Salvatore looked at Adriano.
“Your mother.”
