Chapter 3 - Fractured Memories
By midnight, the penthouse had been converted into a temporary medical clinic. Dr. Melissa Evans, a trusted physician who handled the Kane syndicate’s off-the-books injuries, closed her medical bag with a soft click.
Adrian met her in the hallway outside the guest suite. He had changed into a clean black shirt, though the bandage on his torso was already seeped with fresh blood from the day's exertions.
"How is she?" Adrian asked, leaning against the wall.
"Physically? Malnourished, severely dehydrated, and she has old, poorly healed fractures in her left wrist and ribs," Dr. Evans said, her tone professional but laced with deep concern. "But mentally... Adrian, she’s been living in a state of prolonged, acute trauma for a decade. Her mind has literally fractured her identity to protect her from the memory of the night her family died."
"She remembers Dominic Valenti," Adrian noted grimly.
"Fragments," Evans corrected. "She remembers the fire, the smell of accelerant, and a man with a scarred jaw who took her mother’s ring right off her dying fingers. She fled into the streets at sixteen. The matted hair, the filth—it wasn't just neglect, Adrian. It was an evolutionary defense mechanism. She made herself invisible, untouchable, and repulsive so that no one would look closely enough to see the missing Sterling heiress."
Adrian’s jaw clenched. Dominic Valenti was the current head of the Valenti Syndicate. Ten years ago, he had been a mid-level enforcer who suddenly rose to power right after the Sterling empire mysteriously collapsed and its assets were liquidated into shell companies he controlled.
"Can she remember the rest?" Adrian asked. "The accounts? The documentation? The proof that Valenti murdered her family?"
"If you force it, you'll break what's left of her sanity," Evans warned sternly. "She needs stability. She needs to feel safe before her brain will allow those memories to resurface."
Before Adrian could answer, the elevator at the end of the hall chimed. Marco stepped out, his face tight, a tablet tightly held in his hand.
"Boss, we have a problem," Marco said, skipping any pleasantries. "The Valenti boys are shaking down Fifth Avenue. They figured out someone bought out Théo’s salon this morning. They haven't tied it to us yet, but they’re pulling street camera footage. They know a homeless woman who matches the description of the 'Alley Witch' went into that building and never came out the same way."
Adrian straightened up, ignoring the flare of pain in his ribs. A dark, dangerous smile played at the corners of his lips.
"They're terrified," Adrian murmured. "For ten years, Dominic Valenti has slept soundly knowing he burned his way to the top. Now, the ghost of his biggest sin is walking the streets of Manhattan in broad daylight."
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"What do you want to do?" Marco asked.
"Move our perimeter out two blocks. Tell the boys to prep the armory," Adrian commanded, his voice cold as winter sleet. "Dominic wants to hunt for a ghost? Let him. But he's about to find out that the ghost has a keeper."
