Chapter 4 - THE FALLEN VIPER
Salvatore’s right hand—the hand that had held absolute, iron control over Chicago’s criminal underworld for thirty years—slowly began to loosen its grip on the silver viper handle of his cane.
His fingers uncurled one by one.
CRASH!
The heavy silver-headed cane slipped from his grasp and struck the white marble floor with a sharp, echoing metallic crack that shattered the silence of the restaurant.
Nobody moved. Not a single lieutenant reached down to retrieve it.
Mateo stopped two inches from his father, his gray eyes darting from the fallen silver cane on the floor up to his father’s pale, stricken face, and then back to Tessa, who stood clutching the silver pitcher against her apron like a shield.
Salvatore took another step closer to Tessa, ignoring the cane on the floor. His hands were shaking visibly now, his breathing coming in short, ragged gasps.
"Rosa..." Salvatore rasped, his voice breaking on the name. "Rosa Giuliano..."
Tessa’s eyes widened. She had not spoken her great-grandmother’s maiden surname—only her first name and married title—yet the old Don had spoken the exact maiden name that had been scrubbed from every official document in Illinois fifty years ago.
"You... you knew her?" Tessa stammered, her composure finally cracking as a wave of confusion and fear washed over her.
May you like
Salvatore raised his trembling left hand, reaching out toward Tessa’s face as if to touch her auburn hair, but stopped his fingers two inches away, afraid that she was a phantom produced by his own guilty conscience.
"I didn't just know her, child," Salvatore whispered, his dark eyes brimming with sudden, unbidden tears. "I was the man who was supposed to die with her in Palermo."
