Chapter 2 - The Salvatore Name and the Unseen Watcher
Mary did not sleep. She lay awake watching shadows move across the hotel-room ceiling while rain struck the windows. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Liam. His dark eyes. His hands beneath her chin. His voice saying her name. I know. That was the part she could not explain. She had told him her name only after he brought her to the hotel. How had he already known?
Maybe he had seen her at the wedding. But the reception had been enormous. Hundreds of guests. Music. Drinking. Conversation. How could he have singled her out? How could he have known who she was unless he had been watching her? The idea should have frightened her. Instead, it sent a strange current through her. By dawn, she had made a decision. She would not return to Rome yet. Not until she understood what happened. Not until she saw him again.
She showered and dressed carefully in dark jeans and a cream blouse. She tied her damp hair into a loose knot and concealed the evidence of her sleepless night with minimal makeup. At 8:00, she went downstairs to the hotel restaurant. Only a few guests were there. Tourists studying maps. An older businessman reading a newspaper. A young French couple speaking quietly. Mary ordered a cappuccino and a cornetto filled with apricot jam. She barely touched either.
When the waiter returned, she asked, "Do you know anyone named Liam?"
The man continued reaching for her cup. "He rides a black motorcycle." His hand stopped. His eyes changed. "Why do you ask?"
"He helped me during the storm." Mary kept her tone casual. "I wanted to thank him properly."
The waiter set the dishes down again. "Signorina, if you are intelligent, you will forget him."
"Why?"
He leaned closer. His voice dropped. "Because Liam Salvatore is not the kind of man a girl like you should be thanking."
Salvatore. The name struck her. She had heard it at the wedding. Whispered. Never spoken casually. Her cousin Gianluca had mentioned it days ago, sweating through his expensive linen suit while sipping espresso at a sidewalk café. You stay away from the north side, Gianluca had warned, his eyes darting across the square. The Salvatore family owns this city, Mary. Every dock, every hotel, every political office. Cross them, and you don't just disappear. You never existed.
Mary stared at the waiter. Liam Salvatore. The phantom lord of Palermo. The man who supposedly commanded shadows and silenced enemies without blinking. And he had fished her out of a gutter, fixed her helmet strap, and brought her safely home. Her heart throbbed with a dangerous exhilaration. She did not check out. Instead, she left the hotel and walked out into the crisp, post-storm Palermo morning. The streets were washed clean, glistening in the brilliant Mediterranean sun. Vendors were setting up their fruit stalls, shouting greetings across cobblestone alleys. Everything felt normal, mundane, completely detached from the underworld violence whispered about last night. Yet Mary felt a constant hum beneath her skin.
She walked toward the old harbor, the scent of salt and rotting seaweed filling the air. Fishermen unloaded crates of silver sardines, their skin flashing in the sunlight. She pulled out her vintage camera, pretending to take pictures of the boats, but her eyes scanned every passing figure. Every leather jacket. Every dark motorcycle. Midday came and went. She ate a quick arancini at a corner shop, her mind racing. How does one find a mafia boss who doesn't want to be found?
You don't. He finds you.
A heavy hand landed gently on her shoulder. Mary spun around, her breath catching in her throat. Standing before her was not Liam, but a man twice his age with a face carved from granite, wearing a tailored charcoal suit that looked entirely out of place among the fish stalls.
"Signorina Rossi," the older man said, his voice smooth and gravelly. "Don Salvatore requests the pleasure of your company."
Mary swallowed hard, her pulse hammering against her ribs. "I don't know any Don Salvatore."
May you like
"You know Liam," the man replied, offering a faint, humorless smile. "And he knows you. Step this way, please."
A sleek black sedan idled a few feet away, its tinted windows reflecting the bright Sicilian sky. Mary looked down the narrow alleyway, then back at the car. She had wanted answers. Now, she was about to get them, whether she was ready or not.
