Chapter 3 - The Silver Locket
The guest suite in the east wing was larger than Nadia’s entire former apartment. It featured a private balcony overlooking the frozen Charles River, heavy velvet curtains, and an antique fireplace that had already been lit before she entered. On the desk lay her laptop, her reference dictionaries, and her father’s silver-framed photograph, exactly as she had kept it on her modest nightstand.
Sleep did not come easily. Every groan of the old timber, every gust of wind against the glass sounded like an approaching threat.
Around two in the morning, a soft scratching sound came from the corridor. Nadia slipped out of bed, pulling a thick knit sweater over her shoulders, and eased the heavy door open.
In the hallway, Elena stood clutching a faded woolen shawl around her thin shoulders. Her bare feet were pale against the dark floorboards, and she was wandering aimlessly toward the staircase, murmuring in fragmented Venetian dialect.
"Signora Elena," Nadia called out softly, keeping her voice low so as not to startle her.
Elena stopped, turning around slowly. In the dim amber glow of the sconces, her face looked terrified, the lines around her mouth etched deep with sorrow.
"They are in the courtyard, Nadia," Elena whispered, trembling violently. "I can hear the engines. They came through the gate in Treviso. Lorenzo was only a boy... so much blood on the marble..."
"You are in Boston, Elena," Nadia said gently, closing the distance and taking the elderly woman’s icy hands into hers. "You are safe. Mt. Vernon Street. Look at the wallpaper—it’s the blue damask you chose."
Elena blinked, the wild terror in her eyes slowly receding as she anchored herself to Nadia’s steady voice. "Nadia? Is it you?"
"It’s me. Come, let’s get you back to bed."
Nadia led her carefully down the hall into Elena’s private suite. It was a massive room filled with oil paintings of Italian landscapes, crystal rosaries, and the faint scent of dried lavender. Nadia helped her onto the four-poster bed and pulled the heavy down comforter up to her chin.
As she did, Elena reached up and unclasped a small, worn silver locket from around her neck.
"Take it," Elena insisted, pressing the cool metal into Nadia’s palm.
"No, signora, this is yours. Lorenzo gave this to you—"
"No," Elena said firmly, closing Nadia’s fingers over it. "Lorenzo’s father gave this to me forty years ago when we fled the north. Inside is the crest of the Carbone bloodline. It opens the private vaults in Milan. It commands the loyalty of every man who wears the seal."
Nadia looked down at the tarnished silver. It bore an intricate engraving of a falcon carrying an olive branch wound with barbed wire.
"I cannot take this," Nadia protested. "Lorenzo would never allow it."
"Lorenzo sees the world through crosshairs and ledgers," Elena said, her eyes burning with startling lucidity. "He thinks power is built on fear. But fear always turns to betrayal. You have the heart of a protector, Nadia. You stopped in the rain when everyone else looked away. When the time comes—and it will come soon—Lorenzo will need someone who remembers how to show mercy. Keep it close. Do not show it to him."
Before Nadia could refuse again, the door clicked open.
Lorenzo stood on the threshold. He had discarded his suit jacket, his white shirt sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing dark ink tracing down his tendons—a series of Roman numerals and protective wards. In his right hand, held loosely at his side, was a semiautomatic pistol.
He took in the scene instantly: his mother tucked safely in bed, Nadia standing beside her, and the absence of any intruder.
His eyes lowered to Nadia’s closed fist, but she instinctively slid her hand into the pocket of her sweater, concealing the locket.
"Is she alright?" Lorenzo asked, holstering the weapon behind his back.
"A bad dream," Nadia replied quietly. "She remembered Treviso."
Lorenzo’s jaw tightened, a flash of ancient agony crossing his features before vanishing behind his customary mask of stone. "Go to sleep, Mama. The house is secure."
Elena closed her eyes without another word, exhaustion overtaking her fragile frame.
Lorenzo waited by the doorway as Nadia stepped out into the hall. As the door clicked shut behind them, he stepped into her path, his presence overwhelming in the narrow hallway.
"What did she give you?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.
May you like
Nadia lifted her chin, meeting his piercing gaze without blinking. "A reminder that she loves you. Even when you frighten her."
Lorenzo held her gaze for several agonizing seconds, searching her face for deceit. Finding none, he exhaled a slow, controlled breath. "Go back to your room, Nadia. Tomorrow, the war begins."
