Chapter 1
"Do you know what I do to people who steal from me?"" the ruthless mafia boss thundered as a barefoot little girl stood surrounded by armed guards, clutching one of his dead wife's precious white roses. "I'm sorry, sir. My mommy is dying, and I just wanted to make her smile," she whispered. His rage vanished instantly, but when he saw the object hanging around her neck, his entire world seemed to stop.
My name is Jack Morrison. I'm 45 years old, and in New York's criminal underworld, powerful men lower their voices when they speak my name.
My tattoo-covered arms, cold gray eyes, and ruthless reputation have helped me build an empire worth millions. But all that power couldn't save the one person I loved most.
My wife, Anna.
Before she died, a neighborhood boy accidentally kicked a soccer ball over our iron fence, destroying her favorite rose trellis.
I stormed outside, furious.
""DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU'VE DONE?""
The boy trembled. But Anna, already weak from illness, stepped onto the porch.
""Jack, stop!"" she pleaded. ""He's only a child. Grief doesn't make cruelty noble. Promise me you'll remember that.""
I apologized. And after Anna died, her words haunted me.
I refused to leave our mansion because every corner still held her memory.
I preserved her garden exactly as she'd designed it. White roses lined the western wall, crimson roses climbed the trellis, lavender bordered the stone pathway, and her favorite iron bench stood beneath the magnolia tree.
Not even my armed guards were allowed to touch those flowers.
Every morning, I tended them myself.
Until one scorching summer morning, when I heard the side gate creak.
A barefoot little girl stood beside Anna's white roses.
She couldn't have been older than six. Her dark hair was tangled, her blue dress was torn, and dust covered her tiny feet.
Two guards rushed forward.
""BOSS! SOMEONE BROKE INTO THE GARDEN!""
Then I saw the white rose clutched in her trembling hand.
""WHO GAVE YOU PERMISSION TO TOUCH MY WIFE'S FLOWERS?"" I roared.
She flinched so violently that one guard reached toward her.
""Don't touch her!"" I snapped.
The girl looked straight into my eyes.
""Please, sir,"" she whispered. ""My mommy is very sick.""
My jaw tightened.
""That doesn't give you permission to steal!""
""I know, sir."" Her voice shook. ""But Mommy says beautiful flowers make sad days feel better.""
I froze.
She carefully held out the rose.
""We don't have money to buy flowers. I thought maybe just one wouldn't make you sad.""
Those words struck me harder than any bullet ever could.
Anna had said almost those exact words during her final days.
Behind me, my guards stood speechless.
I slowly lowered myself onto one knee, struggling to breathe.
""Sweetheart,"" I whispered, ""what's your name?""
But before she could answer, sunlight caught something hanging around her neck.
A small object slipped from beneath her dress.
I recognized it instantly.
May you like
My hands began trembling.
Because I had last seen that object on the day Anna died.
