Chapter 8 - The Siege of Memories
They walked together down the quiet, carpeted hallway toward Leo’s bedroom.
The door was propped wide open—a permanent change Victor had ordered the moment the cameras were uninstalled and smashed to pieces in the courtyard. There were no more secrets in this house. No more hidden lenses. No more paranoia.
When they stepped inside, they found physical therapist Marcus helping Leo transition from his motorized wheelchair into a comfortable armchair by the window.
Leo looked healthier. The pale, ghost-like grayness of his skin had vanished, replaced by the natural warmth of a young boy recovering from a nightmare.
Victor and Nora stopped a few feet away, watching quietly.
Leo’s head turned slowly toward the doorway. His gray eyes—so bright, so sharply intelligent—landed on Nora.
He raised his right arm. It was a slow, agonizingly difficult movement, muscles that had atrophied for over a year straining against gravity. His thin fingers twitched, pointing directly at the piano bench across the room.
Nora’s breath hitched. She covered her mouth with both hands, tears instantly springing to her eyes.
Leo opened his mouth. His lips parted, dry and hesitant, shaping words that hadn't passed his throat since the night of the crash.
The room went absolute, reverent silence.
“Play... the rain,” Leo whispered.
His voice was raspy, thin, and breathless, but it was the most beautiful sound Victor Romano had ever heard in his entire life.
Nora didn't hesitate. She crossed the room in three strides, dropping down onto the piano bench. Her hands hovered over the ivory keys for a brief, emotional second before descending into a soft, shimmering arpeggio that sounded exactly like cool water falling on autumn leaves.
Leo closed his eyes, leaning back against the cushions of his chair, a faint, peaceful smile touching the corners of his mouth.
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By the doorway, Victor stood watching them.
The mob boss, the ruler of the Chicago underworld, felt a tear slip down his own cheek. He didn't wipe it away. He let it fall, knowing that the fortress he had built to keep the world out had finally let the light back in.
