Chapter 6 - Shadows of the Past
The peace that settled over the Falcone estate was real, but in a world like Rhode Island's high-stakes underworld, silence was often the precursor to a storm.
One crisp autumn morning, while Clementine was at her new private preschool in Providence, Rebecca stood in the modernized kitchen, preparing lunch. The service entrance buzzer chimed softly—not the blaring alarm of an attack, but a low, coded knock.
Rebecca froze. She wiped her hands on a dish towel and walked to the security monitor by the back door.
Standing on the stone porch was a man she never expected to see again.
Arthur Vance.
Former chief of police in the West Virginia town where Thomas had died. The very man who had signed off on the falsified autopsy report three years ago, pocketed a bribe from Rossi’s associates, and told Rebecca to pack her bags and leave town.
Rebecca’s breath caught. She pressed the intercom button.
"Who is this?" she asked, her voice steady despite the adrenaline spiking in her veins.
"Mrs. Hail," Vance’s raspy voice crackled through the speaker. He looked older, gaunt, his trench coat worn at the cuffs, clutching a battered leather briefcase. "I know you think I’m your enemy. But I need to talk to Adriano Falcone. And you’re the only one who can let me in."
"Why should I?" Rebecca hissed. "You helped cover up my husband's murder."
"I helped cover it up because they put a gun to my daughter's head, just like they put a threat to yours!" Vance shouted back, pressing his face close to the intercom camera, his eyes wild with desperation. "And now Rossi’s remaining loyalists are coming back for a purge. They aren't just after Falcone. They have the original unedited dashcam footage from the night Thomas died. The real footage. Not the fake one I was forced to file."
Rebecca’s hand trembled on the intercom button.
The real footage.
Proof of what really happened to Thomas. Proof that he hadn't just died in an accident—he had been hunted down.
Before she could answer, heavy footsteps echoed behind her. Adriano stepped into the kitchen, his expression carved from granite. He had heard every word through the smart-home audio feed.
"Open the door, Rebecca," Adriano said quietly.
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"Adriano, it could be a trap—"
"If it’s a trap, he won't make it past the threshold," Adriano replied, pulling a heavy brass key from his pocket and walking toward the back door. "And if he has that footage... we are going to finish what we started three months ago."
