Chapter 3 - The Sanctuary and the Threat
8 months passed.
Inside the violent world of East Coast organized crime, a distracted boss was a vulnerable boss.
Lorenzo’s empire began bleeding.
The Moretti family moved into Falcone shipping routes in Brooklyn.
Lorenzo barely reacted.
He existed in a state of hollow, mechanical rage.
Traitors were executed without hesitation.
Rival warehouses burned.
Trusted capos became alienated.
Every night, Lorenzo returned to the master suite.
He poured scotch.
Then stared at Vivian’s diamond ring resting in the center of her cold pillow.
He had become a king ruling ashes.
Federal investigators moved closer, tapping phones and turning underbosses against their organizations, echoing the real-life takedowns of the Colombo and Lucchese families during the late 1990s.
Lorenzo cared about almost none of it.
His obsession remained Vivian.
He spent millions hiring private investigators.
He hacked federal databases.
He threatened and interrogated every known associate connected to Vivian’s father.
Nothing.
It seemed as though the earth had swallowed her.
Hundreds of miles away, the New York violence felt distant in Camden, Maine.
Vivian stood on the wraparound porch of an isolated cedar-shingle cottage overlooking the steel-gray Atlantic.
Ocean wind whipped her chestnut hair across her face.
Her cheeks were pink from the cold.
She looked healthier.
Stronger.
Fundamentally changed.
The trembling Mafia wife who waited in a foyer until 2:00 a.m. no longer existed.
Vivian had reclaimed herself.
And she was not alone.
The man who had driven the untraceable black sedan on the night of her escape was someone Lorenzo believed had been dead for 5 years.
Leonardo Falcone.
Lorenzo’s estranged older brother.
Leonardo had originally been the Falcone heir.
But he walked away when the violence became unbearable.
With the help of a legendary underground fixer named Vincent Gargano, Leonardo faked his death in what everyone believed was a fatal yacht explosion.
Vivian had accidentally discovered that Leonardo was alive during the 2nd year of her marriage while organizing old syndicate archives.
She also discovered the channels used to contact him.
When Lorenzo finally broke what remained of her trust, Vivian knew Leonardo was the only person alive with enough resources, intelligence, and motivation to hide her from his own brother.
“The wind’s up, Vivian.”
A calm male voice came from the doorway.
Leonardo stepped onto the porch carrying 2 mugs of hot hot coffee.
He shared Lorenzo’s dark Italian features, but his eyes were different.
Warm.
Marked by laugh lines rather than suspicion.
“I like the wind, Leo.”
Vivian accepted a mug.
“It reminds me I’m breathing.”
She looked toward the ocean.
“That I’m free.”
Leonardo leaned against the railing.
His expression became serious.
“Freedom is fragile.”
Vivian turned toward him.
“My contacts in New York are nervous. Lorenzo’s spiraling.”
Leonardo described what had happened.
Lorenzo had ordered the murder of Frankie Moretti’s nephew in broad daylight on Mulberry Street.
The Commission was furious.
“They’re going to sanction him, Vivian.”
Leonardo looked at her.
“If he doesn’t pull himself back, they’ll kill him.”
Pain flickered through Vivian.
She forced it down.
“Lorenzo made his choices.”
Her voice remained steady.
“He loved power more than he loved me.”
She looked back toward the water.
“I cannot save a man who considers love a liability.”
Vivian’s hand moved instinctively toward the gentle curve of her stomach.
Beneath the thick wool sweater was the greatest secret she had carried from New York.
She was 6 months pregnant.
The night Lorenzo told her he had never loved her, Vivian had been waiting in the foyer because she intended to tell him he was going to become a father.
His cruelty had done more than end her trust in their marriage.
It terrified her.
She could not bring an innocent child into Lorenzo’s war.
“You’re right,” Leonardo said.
Then he sighed.
“But you know my brother.”
His gaze moved toward the horizon.
“He’s a hunter. Hunters eventually get lucky.”
3 days later, his warning proved accurate.
The mistake was not a telephone call.
Not a bank transfer.
Not carelessness by Leonardo.
It was an unavoidable medical appointment.
Vivian traveled to Oakhaven Medical Center, a private clinic in Portland, for a routine prenatal ultrasound.
She paid cash.
Used the alias Valerie Rossi.
But the clinic had recently updated its security software.
Its patient database had been linked to a statewide facial-recognition grid tied to federal health registries.
In New York, a corrupt NYPD detective on Lorenzo’s payroll routinely scanned medical databases looking for images that matched Vivian’s biometric markers.
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The system generated a match.
The alert reached Matteo.
