Chapter 2 - The Man in the Black Sedan
Marlene’s face underwent an instant, grotesque transformation, shifting from cruel contempt to obsequious delight in less than a heartbeat.
"Mr. Ferrante!" she cooed, hurrying down the remaining steps, smoothing her skirt with nervous hands.
"We didn't expect you back until the memorial service on Friday! What an honor to have you visit us again."
Rocco didn't look at her.
He didn't acknowledge her outstretched hand or the breathless flattery pouring from her painted lips.
His dark eyes swept past Marlene, past Bram lounging on the porch, and landed directly on Hannah shivering in her thin black dress.
"Where is your coat?" Rocco asked Hannah, his gravelly voice cutting through the frosty air like a straight razor.
Hannah blinked, surprised by the direct question from a man whose name terrified half the politicians in the state.
"I... I gave it to Mr. Pell," she murmured, gesturing toward the elderly groundskeeper leaning against the stone pillar.
Rocco looked at the old man, taking in the trembling frame, the frayed collar, and the blue tinge along his fingernails.
Without saying a word, Rocco reached up, slipped off his heavy cashmere overcoat, and stepped forward.
He draped the warm, expensive garment over Hannah’s shoulders, letting the heavy wool envelop her against the wind.
The scent of cedarwood, clean rain, and expensive tobacco settled around her like an impenetrable fortress.
"Get inside the car, Mr. Pell," Rocco ordered quietly, gesturing toward the open rear door of the black sedan.
The old groundskeeper hesitated, his milky eyes widening with confusion and fear.
"You're safe, Arthur," Rocco added, using the man's first name with profound, unexpected respect.
"Edmund told me about the rose garden you planted for his wife thirty years ago. My driver will take you to St. Jude’s clinic and settle your account."
Marlene’s smile completely froze, her mouth slightly agape as she watched the mob boss treat a fired laborer like royalty.
"Mr. Ferrante, really, that isn't necessary," Marlene stammered, stepping forward.
"Arthur was terminated for gross incompetence, and Hannah is simply being dramatic to cause a scene."
Rocco turned his head slowly, fixing Marlene with a stare so glacial that the woman physically stepped back onto the stairs.
"Did I ask for your opinion, Mrs. Weller?" Rocco whispered, the softness of his voice far more terrifying than a shout.
Bram stopped swirling his scotch, his face draining of color as he straightened up from the doorframe.
"No... of course not," Marlene choked out, her throat bobbing nervously. "I only meant—"
"I don't care what you meant," Rocco interrupted, turning his back on her entirely.
He looked down at Hannah, his expression softening just enough for her to see the genuine human being beneath the dangerous legend.
"Did you eat dinner tonight, Hannah?"
May you like
Hannah looked down at her shoes, shaking her head slightly. "Not yet."
"Come," Rocco said, opening the front passenger door of the sedan. "We have business to discuss before Friday."
