Chapter 1 - The Drop
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Santino Ferrara went into the pool at exactly 9:17 on a bright Newport morning.
One second, the most powerful man in Rhode Island was beside the flagstone edge in his custom wheelchair, listening to three men discuss international shipping contracts. The sun reflected off the pristine blue water, creating a deceptive illusion of perfect, untouchable peace.
The next second, one front caster struck an uneven, jagged piece of stone.
The chair tipped.
Santino disappeared backward into ten feet of cold blue water.
Two hundred guests saw it happen. Politicians, wealthy businessmen, and hardened mafia lieutenants stood frozen with their champagne flutes in hand.
Nobody moved. They were paralyzed by fear, calculating the political risk, wondering silently if this was an orchestrated assassination they weren't supposed to interfere with.
Emily Taylor did.
She dropped the heavy silver coffee tray. The porcelain cups shattered violently against the patio, but she was already running across the lawn.
The water hit her like a wall of ice, shocking her system and stealing the breath from her lungs.
Her cheap, heavy dress shoes immediately dragged her downward, but Emily kicked fiercely, fighting the weight until she saw Santino at the very bottom.
His wheelchair sat perfectly upright on the blue tile, acting as a heavy anchor of metal and rubber.
His wet suit jacket had twisted through the rear axle as he fell, trapping him completely against the backrest.
Emily grabbed his arms and pulled. She braced her feet against the wheel and yanked with all her might.
Nothing happened.
Santino’s eyes remained open.
Calm.
Watching her. He didn't thrash. He didn't panic. He just stared at her through the chlorinated water, maintaining the aura of a king even while drowning in silence.
She had maybe thirty seconds of air left in her burning lungs.
She could surface, take a breath, and come back. She could scream for the guards to jump in.
But she already knew what that would mean. It would be entirely too late. The heavy wool of his suit was shrinking, binding him tighter to the metal frame with every passing second.
Emily braced one palm against his solid chest and attacked the buttons of his jacket.
First.
Second.
Third.
Her fingers were going completely numb from the lack of oxygen and the biting cold.
She shoved the heavy wool down from his broad shoulders, pulling his arms free from the sleeves.
The chair finally released him.
Santino rose suddenly, his body buoyant without the deadly trap of the fabric.
Emily hooked an arm beneath his strong jaw—exactly the way a lifeguard instructor had taught her years earlier—and kicked toward the shallow steps with every ounce of strength she had left.
Only then did anyone help.
Hands appeared everywhere from the surface.
Men who had stood by and watched him sink to the bottom were suddenly lifting him from the water, shouting frantic orders, pretending they had been rushing to his aid the entire time.
Emily ended up sitting on the rough flagstones, soaked to the bone, gasping for air, and shaking violently.
Nobody applauded her.
Nobody shouted a single word of thanks.
That disturbed her most.
The entire manicured lawn seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for permission to react.
Santino coughed twice, expelling water onto the expensive stone.
He breathed in deep, ragged gasps.
He opened his dark eyes.
He completely ignored his sister, who was suddenly wailing his name.
He ignored Rafe Lombardi, his massive security chief, who was hovering nervously over him.
He ignored the private doctor kneeling beside him with a stethoscope pressed to his chest.
Instead, he turned his head and found Emily sitting eight feet away, dripping wet and shivering.
Then he asked:
“Who told you that you weren’t allowed?”
Emily stared at him, her teeth chattering.
He wasn’t really asking her.
May you like
Everyone on the lawn knew it.
And suddenly, the powerful, dangerous men standing around them began lowering their eyes to the ground in profound, terrified shame.
