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The fireworks bloomed overhead, showering white and gold sparks across the dark bay, but Clara’s eyes were locked on Aldo Falconee’s right coat pocket. / Chapter 2 / 10

Chapter 2 - The Interrogation in the DarkThe music stopped. The lights on the terrace stayed on, but the festive illusion was shattered. Inside the grand library, the heavy oak doors were bolted shut from the inside.

Only four people remained in the room: Adrienne Marquetti, sitting behind a massive mahogany desk with a face carved from granite; Matteo standing guard by the door with a hand resting on his holster; Aldo Falconee, bound tightly to a wooden chair with a split lip and a murderous glare; and Clara, standing near the fireplace, shivering in her torn clothes.

"Explain," Adrienne said. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried the weight of a death sentence. He looked at Aldo first, his eyes narrowing. "My new uncle by marriage. An esteemed guest of the house. Walking out of my tool shed with a suppressed nine-millimeter."

Aldo spat a glob of blood onto the Persian rug. He chuckled, a wet, gravelly sound. "You think you're smart, boy. You marry a Falconee, you think you own the city. But you brought a stray dog into your courtyard, and look what it cost you."

"Shut your mouth," Matteo growled, stepping forward and driving the back of his hand across Aldo’s jaw.

"No," Adrienne raised a hand, stopping his enforcer. He turned his piercing gaze toward Clara. "You. You were out on the road. My mother had you thrown out because you dropped a vase. You had your bags packed. Why did you come back?"

Clara looked at Adrienne. For months, she had despised him—this cold, untouchable king of the underworld who treated human lives like chips on a poker table. But looking at him now, alive and breathing, she felt the anchor in her chest shift.

"I smelled the oil," Clara said steadily, lifting her chin. "Gun oil. Rem-Oil. The kind they use on custom-action pistols. It doesn't belong in a rose garden." She pointed a trembling finger at Aldo. "And I saw his ring. Eleven months ago, in the dock district, a car slowed down after a hit. A man leaned out the window with that exact bird ring on his finger. Aldo Falconee didn't just try to kill you tonight, Mr. Marquetti. He’s the one who tried to wipe out your entire inner circle last year."

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The room went dead silent. Adrienne slowly stood up from his desk, the leather chair squeaking softly.

Aldo’s face flickered—just for a fraction of a second—with genuine shock. He hadn't expected the maid to remember a ring in the dark.

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