Chapter 5 - THE FORTRESS OF MARQUETTI
The Marquetti estate was a fortress of stone and iron,
hidden behind massive gates and rows of towering oak trees.
It was a world of hushed corridors,
priceless art,
and men who stood like statues in every doorway.
Toby was delighted by the size of the house,
running through the rooms and signing about how it looked like a castle.
But I felt like a prisoner in a golden cage.
I spent my days wandering the library,
reading books I had never heard of,
and watching the guards patrol the perimeter.
Salvatore was gone for long hours,
commanding his empire and fighting the battles I could only imagine.
Every night,
he would return,
looking more tired and more worn.
We would sit in the garden,
the only place where the air felt real,
and talk in our silent language.
"I'm sorry for bringing you here,"
he signed one night,
the moon reflecting in his glass of whiskey.
"I wanted to keep you away from this life,"
"but the world is too small for us to be separate."
"I'm not sorry,"
I signed,
reaching across the table to touch his sleeve.
"I would rather be in danger with you than safe without you."
He looked at me,
a look of such deep longing it made my breath hitch.
"Why did you learn ASL, Salvatore?"
I signed,
hoping to bridge the gap between us.
He looked at the dark trees for a long time before answering.
"After the explosion,"
"I woke up in a world that was empty,"
"my men looked at me with pity,"
"and my enemies looked at me with hunger."
"I realized that if I couldn't hear their lies,"
"I would have to see their hearts."
"I taught myself,"
"from books and from a teacher who died long ago."
"I wanted a weapon that no one could take from me."
"And then I met you,"
"and my weapon became a bridge."
I felt a tear slip down my cheek,
and I didn't brush it away.
"You're not a monster, Salvatore,"
I signed.
He reached out and caught the tear on his thumb.
"In this city, I have to be,"
he signed,
"but in this garden, with you,"
"I am just a man who wants to hear the music again."
He leaned in,
his face inches from mine,
and I saw the scar on his cheek ripple as he jaw tightened.
He didn't kiss me,
he simply rested his forehead against mine,
and for a long time,
the only sound was the wind in the leaves.
But the war wasn't finished.
Deep in the house,
a phone was ringing,
and a betrayal was being planned.
A man named Lorenzo,
Salvatore's oldest friend and most trusted advisor,
was standing in the shadows of the hallway.
He watched us in the garden,
his eyes full of a cold,
calculating greed.
He knew that as long as I was there,
May you like
Salvatore was vulnerable.
And he was ready to sell that vulnerability to the highest bidder.
