Chapter 4 - The Restoration Workshop
By midnight, I was back in the small apartment above Bellini Jewel Restoration. The rhythmic hum of the neon sign outside buzzed against the windowpane, casting a warm amber glow over my father's old mahogany workbench.
I sat under the bright adjustable task lamp, holding the blood-stained gold wedding ring in a pair of precision titanium tweezers.
The ring was badly warped, the inner band crushed inward from the force of the alley assault. But gold is a malleable metal. It can be bent, heated, melted down, and reshaped into something entirely new, provided the smith has the patience and the steady hand to work the fire.
My phone buzzed on the workbench. A text message from Maso: Ruggero's estate in Lake Forest is locked down. Paolo Rossi vanished an hour ago. Alessandro is hunting.
I ignored the screen, picking up a small propane micro-torch with my right hand.
I clicked the igniter, and a blue-white flame hissed to life, dancing at the tip of the nozzle. I adjusted the valve, bringing the tip of the flame down toward the scarred, blood-stained band held securely in the third-hand clamp.
The fire licked against the gold, heating the metal until it began to glow with a dull, cherry-red aura.
As the gold softened under the intense heat, the dark stain of blood hissed, oxidized, and burned away into the air, leaving behind pure, unblemished metal. This was what my father had taught me when I was ten years old: Never throw away a broken piece, Adriana. Everything can be restored, as long as you're willing to endure the fire.
A sudden, sharp knock at the street-level door downstairs broke my concentration.
I turned off the torch, letting the cooling metal hiss softly in the quiet room. I didn't move. I listened as heavy, unhurried footsteps climbed the narrow wooden staircase leading up to the apartment.
The lock clicked. The door swung open.
Alessandro stood in the threshold.
He looked exhausted. His tie was gone, his shirt sleeves rolled up, and his knuckles on his right hand were split, raw, and stained with fresh blood. He had been hunting, just like Maso said. And he had found his way back to me.
"You're not welcome here, Alessandro," I said evenly, not standing up from my workbench.
"This building is registered under Bellini Holdings," he replied softly, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. He looked around the dusty workshop, taking in the antique tools, the jars of polishing compound, and the half-finished jewelry pieces scattered across the shelves. "Your father bought this property in nineteen-ninety-two. I transferred the deed into your sole name this afternoon."
I narrowed my eyes. "What kind of game are you playing now?"
"It's not a game," Alessandro said, walking slowly toward the workbench. He stopped a few feet away, his dark eyes dropping to the cooling gold ring resting in the clamp. "Paolo Rossi is dead."
My breath hitched. "You killed him?"
"I gave him a choice," Alessandro said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "He could confess to Ruggero’s conspiracy, or he could take a permanent swim in Lake Michigan. He chose the lake."
Alessandro looked up, meeting my eyes with an intensity that stripped away all the defenses I had spent the last twenty-four hours building.
"Ruggero is isolated," Alessandro continued, his voice softening. "The old guard is fracturing. They thought I was weak because I kept a wife who didn't bow her head. They thought my attachment to you was a liability."
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"And wasn't it?" I asked bitterly. "Look at Camila. Look at what happened because I existed in your world."
"No," Alessandro said, taking a decisive step forward until he was standing right beside my chair. He reached out, his raw, bruised knuckles hovering just above the gold ring on my workbench. "They didn't attack you because you were a liability, Adriana. They attacked you because they were terrified of what happens when a mafia boss actually falls in love with an equal."
