Chapter 9 - Whispers of the Past
Two weeks after their visit to the diner, a letter arrived at the Bedford estate.
It bore no return address, stamped only with a postmark from a small town in upstate New York near the Canadian border. It was delivered directly to Vance’s private office by his head of security, Frank.
Vance sat at his mahogany desk, opening the thick parchment envelope with a silver letter opener. Inside was a single sheet of paper and a small, worn silver medallion—a saint’s medal depicting St. Christopher, the patron saint of travelers and holy protection.
Vance read the handwritten note inside:
Salvatore,
Word reaches even these quiet woods that the Moretti family is no more, and that the King of Manhattan has traded his crown for a quiet life in the hills. They say a miracle saved your boy from the flames on West 91st.
The medal enclosed belonged to my father. He always believed that true strength isn't shown by how many men you can destroy, but by how many you can keep from burning.
It seems you finally found someone who understood that before you did.
Live well. Stay dead to the city.
— An Old Friend
Vance stared down at the silver medal, his thumb rubbing over the worn edges of the metal. He recognized the handwriting instantly. It was from old Don Carmine—the retired boss who had stepped down fifteen years ago, leaving the city to the younger, bloodier generation before Vance had taken control.
Loretta walked into the study, carrying a tray with two cups of hot chamomile tea. She noticed the quiet, contemplative look on his face and set the tray down on the corner of the desk.
"Bad news?" she asked softly, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"No," Vance replied, picking up the silver medallion and placing it gently in her open palm. "Just a reminder of how close we came to losing everything."
Loretta looked down at the saint's medal, feeling the heavy cool silver against her hand. She smiled gently, closing her fingers around it.
May you like
"We didn't lose," she whispered, leaning down to press her forehead against his. "We won."
"Yes," Vance murmured, reaching up to cup her face with his hand, his gray eyes filled with a peace that no amount of money or power had ever been able to buy him. "We did."
