Chapter 4 - Debts of Honor
The report on Francesca Moretti arrived on Adriano’s bedside table thirty-six hours later.
Adriano, now sitting up with the help of pain medication, flipped through the pages with analytical precision. He expected to find a hidden criminal record, a connection to a rival family, or some sort of calculated play.
Instead, he found a tragedy of quiet struggle.
Francesca Moretti. Twenty-four years old. Orphaned at eighteen when her mother died of cancer, leaving behind a mountain of medical debt. She had worked two jobs for six years to pay off those debts, living in a dilapidated studio apartment on the edge of the East District. She had no criminal record. No boyfriend. No political affiliations. Her only dream was to attend the state nursing program, a dream she had delayed for three years because she couldn't afford the five-thousand-dollar tuition deposit.
"She spent six years paying off her dead mother's debts," Adriano murmured, his fingers tracing her photo. She had warm, resilient hazel eyes and a smile that looked tired but genuine.
"She's clean, boss," Silas reported from the door. "Her landlord is a slumlord named Kowalski. He's already threatening to evict her because she missed her rent this morning while recovering in the hospital. Her boss at the diner fired her via text message yesterday for failing to show up for her shift."
A cold, dangerous anger flared in Adriano’s chest. A woman had saved his life, surrendered her own flesh to keep him alive, and the world was punishing her for it.
"Call Kowalski," Adriano said, his voice dangerously quiet. "Buy her apartment building. Evict him instead. Then, buy the Moonlight Diner."
Silas blinked. "The diner, boss?"
"Buy it. Fire the manager who text-messaged her. Install someone who understands hospitality. And tell the state nursing school that the Rossi Foundation is establishing a full, unrestricted scholarship for Francesca Moretti. Cover her tuition, her books, her living expenses for the next four years."
"Should we tell her?" Marco asked.
"No," Adriano said, looking at the door. "Not yet. I want to see her first."
Just then, the door pushed open, and Leo ran in. The boy looked exhausted, but his eyes lit up when he saw his father. "Daddy!"
Adriano caught his son with his good arm, pulling him close, ignoring the pull of his stitches. "I’m here, Leo. I'm here."
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"The nice lady saved you," Leo sobbed into his father’s shoulder. "Francesca. She was so brave, Daddy. She didn't let me cry alone."
Adriano stroked his son's hair, his gaze softening in a way his men had never seen before. "I know, Leo. I know. We are going to take care of her."
