Chapter 9: The Thread That Remained
Six weeks later, the federal task force executed a search warrant on Carmine Russo's Midtown office.
Marco told Adrian by phone, early on a Tuesday morning.
"They pulled everything," Marco said.
"Server records, financial files, the shell company documentation.
His attorney is already asking for a continuance."
"The harbor contracts?"
"Clean.
Russo's people are gone.
The dock access reverted to the original holders last week."
Adrian was standing at the window of his study.
Outside, in the garden below, Ellie was showing Hannah something in the kitchen garden bed.
Hannah crouched down to look.
Ellie pointed with great authority.
"The beetle," Marco said, following Adrian's gaze through the phone somehow, or perhaps just knowing.
"Still there?"
"Apparently the garden has three now."
A pause.
"Sir.
There's one more thing."
Adrian turned from the window.
"Tell me."
"The car bomb.
Three years ago." Marco's voice was careful.
"The task force has been building a secondary case.
Russo's name appears in their preliminary filings.
Not as a target.
As a subject."
The room was very quiet.
"They think he ordered it," Adrian said.
"They think he arranged the financing.
Through one of the shell companies that predates the ones we found.
They've been working it for two years.
They didn't have enough until now."
Adrian stood still for a long moment.
Outside, Ellie said something that made Hannah laugh.
"Adrian." Marco waited.
"Do you want me to—"
"No." Adrian's voice was level.
"Let them work.
That's their case.
Not mine."
"You're sure?"
"Elena and Lily deserve a courtroom," Adrian said.
"Not whatever I would do instead."
Marco was quiet for a moment.
"Yes, sir."
"Keep me informed."
"I will."
Adrian ended the call.
He stood at the window for a while longer, watching the garden.
Ellie had found a watering can somewhere and was now watering the beetle's section of the garden bed with intense concentration while Hannah watched with her hands on her knees and the expression of a woman choosing her battles.
Three years of silence and locked rooms and four hours of sleep a night.
And a four-year-old with a watering can, taking care of something small because it deserved to be taken care of.
---
That evening, Hannah knocked on the study door.
"Come in."
She stepped inside.
She had the look of someone who had made a decision and was going to say it before she changed her mind.
"I've thought about the offer," she said.
"Estate manager."
"And?"
"I'll accept it.
On one condition."
Adrian waited.
"Ellie has dinner with you twice a week.
Not because she's performing some function.
Not because it's convenient.
Because she asked to, and she meant it, and I want her to grow up understanding that when you offer someone something real, you follow through."
Adrian looked at her.
"That's your condition."
"That's my condition."
"Then we have an agreement."
Hannah nodded.
She turned to go.
"Hannah."
She stopped.
"The photograph on my desk," Adrian said.
"Elena and Lily.
I put it out six weeks ago."
She turned back slowly.
"I wanted you to know," he said.
"Because you asked me once why I lived here alone.
And I told you I had lost my family." He looked at the photograph.
"I'm not sure I've stopped losing them.
But I think I've stopped — turning away from what they left behind."
Hannah stood in the doorway for a moment.
Then she said, "David used to say that grief is just love with nowhere to go."
Adrian looked at the photograph.
"He was right."
"He usually was." She put her hand briefly on the doorframe.
"Goodnight, Mr.
Moretti."
"Goodnight, Hannah."
She left.
The door closed softly.
Adrian looked at Elena and Lily for a long time.
May you like
Then he turned back to his desk, picked up his pen, and went back to work.
The photograph stayed where it was.
