Morning came with a gray sky and a bitter wind. The kind of day that made the city feel like it was holding its breath.
Ronnie sat at the long dining table in the Moretti kitchen, a mug of black coffee in her hand and her father's notebook open in front of her. Luca leaned against the doorway, watching her read. He hadn't said much since he gave it to her, but his presence was constant—protective, maybe, or just waiting to see what she'd do next.
"Who the hell is 'Goliath'?" she asked, tapping the name scrawled beside a coded number.
"Used to be muscle for the Mancini family. Went independent two years ago. Heard he started selling information to the highest bidder."
Ronnie's eyes narrowed. "Dad met with him three times. Last entry is a week before he died."
"You want me to find him?"
She nodded. "Bring him in. Quietly. If anyone catches wind of this, we lose the edge."
Luca pushed off the wall. "You got it."
"And Luca?"
He paused.
"Don't kill him. Not unless I say."
The old warehouse in Red Hook was cold, damp, and smelled of rusted steel. Perfect for off-the-books meetings. Ronnie stood in the shadows as Luca dragged Goliath—a mountain of a man with a neck like a tree trunk—into the room and threw him into a metal chair.
"Veronica Moretti," Goliath said with a grin that made her skin crawl. "Heard you were back. Didn't expect a personal visit."
"You met with my father a week before he died," she said. "Why?"
"Business."
"What kind of business?"
Goliath shrugged. "I sell information. Your old man was buying."
"What did you sell him?"
He hesitated. That was all the confirmation she needed.
She stepped closer. "Tell me the name. Or I let Luca take you apart, inch by inch."
Goliath laughed. "You don't have it in you."
She leaned in until her face was inches from his. Her voice was ice. "You think just because I wear heels and lipstick, I won't spill blood? My father raised me. I was watching executions before I knew how to spell."
Silence.
Then Goliath's smile vanished. "Fine. He asked about someone inside your family. Said he thought he was being watched. Followed."
"Who?"
"Your cousin. Tommy. The kid."
Ronnie blinked. Tommy was harmless. Loyal. Soft, even. But that's what made it clever, didn't it?
"Thank you," she said. Then to Luca, "Let him go."
Luca frowned. "You sure?"
"We're not ready for that kind of noise."
As Goliath stumbled out, Ronnie turned to Luca. "We need to talk to Tommy. Tonight. And we do it quiet. Just you, me, and Sparks."
Back at the estate, Ronnie sat alone in the library, notebook open on the table, her thoughts racing. If Tommy was the mole, everything changed. But if he wasn't...
She looked down at her father's handwriting. One phrase kept repeating through the pages:
"The quiet ones are the deadliest."
She wasn't sure if it was a warning or a confession.
But either way, she was listening.