Chapter 3 - The Ghost of the Past
Three days later, the report arrived on Adrian’s desk inside a sealed black folder.
Adrian sat in his leather armchair, the fire crackling softly in the stone fireplace, reading through the crisp white pages under the light of a brass desk lamp.
Sofia Carter, age twenty-eight. Formerly Sofia Rossi. Husband: Julian Rossi—a mid-level accountant for a logistics company in South Chicago who died eighteen months ago in an "accidental" hit-and-run driver incident.
Adrian’s eyes narrowed as he read the secondary financial logs.
Julian Rossi hadn't been working for a standard logistics company. He had been auditing the books for a front corporation owned by Dominic "The Hammer" Moretti—Carmine Moretti’s hot-headed younger brother. Julian had discovered a massive embezzlement scheme run by Dominic himself, taking millions from Carmine’s private accounts.
Two days after Julian attempted to go to the federal authorities, his car was forced off the skyway bridge.
And six months later, Dominic Moretti realized that Julian’s wife—Sofia—had disappeared with her husband’s personal hard drives.
Adrian closed the folder with a quiet snap.
He stood up and walked over to the grand fireplace, resting his arm against the carved marble mantelpiece. The pieces of the puzzle clicked together with terrifying clarity. Sofia hadn't taken the maid's job at Hawthorne Ridge because she was desperate for money. She had taken it because Hawthorne Ridge was the only place in the state of Illinois where Dominic Moretti’s hitmen wouldn't dare set foot.
She had used Adrian’s terrifying reputation as a human shield for her daughter.
Suddenly, the heavy double doors of the library burst open.
It wasn't a guard. It wasn't Marcus.
It was Bruno.
The massive dog trotted into the room, his claws clicking rhythmically against the hardwood floor. He didn't sit by the fire as he usually did. He walked directly up to Adrian, nudging his master's hand with a low, anxious whine.
Behind him came Sofia, holding a tray with Adrian's evening tea. She looked pale, her hands trembling so violently that the china cups rattled against the silver tray.
"Mr. Mercer... I'm sorry," she whispered, her eyes darting nervously toward the large window facing the driveway. "Bruno pushed past me when I opened the service kitchen door. I couldn't stop him."
Adrian looked at the dog, then at Sofia.
"You're terrified, Sofia," Adrian said, dropping the formal "Mrs. Carter" for the first time.
Sofia froze, her fingers clutching the silver tray tightly. "I... I'm just tired, sir."
"Dominic Moretti has been looking for you for eighteen months," Adrian said flatly, stepping away from the fireplace.
The tea tray slipped from Sofia’s hands.
It crashed against the floor, china shattering, dark tea pooling across the Persian rug. Sofia didn't even look down. She collapsed onto her knees, covering her face with her hands, her shoulders heaving with silent, desperate sobs.
"Please," she wept, her voice broken and raw. "Please don't throw us out. He’ll kill her, Mr. Mercer. He killed Julian, and he’ll kill my baby if he finds us. I didn't mean to bring trouble to your house... I just had nowhere else to go..."
Adrian didn't yell. He didn't call for security.
He walked over, knelt down on one knee in front of the sobbing woman, and picked up a piece of broken china from the rug.
"Sofia," Adrian said, his voice dropping into that terrifying, steady baritone. "Look at me."
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Sofia slowly pulled her hands away from her face, her tear-stained eyes meeting his.
"Nobody touches anyone in this house," Adrian said, his eyes burning with an ancient, dark promise. "You didn't bring trouble to my home, Sofia. You brought the men who are about to realize how big of a mistake they made."
