Chapter 4 - The Wolf at the Gate
Moving to the fourth-floor executive suite felt like stepping into a fairy tale. There were soft carpets, large windows overlooking the snow-covered grounds of the Westchester estate, and a pantry stocked with all my favorite snacks.
Yet, beneath the luxury, the atmosphere inside the mansion crackled with suppressed violence.
The security footage from Alejandro’s hidden bookshelf camera had played in the private screening room within an hour of the incident. The traitor wasn't a stranger. It was Salvatore Vance, the head of internal logistics, who had been secretly funneling operational data to a rival family led by Don Moretti’s ruthless cousin, Carmine.
Salvatore was currently locked in the subterranean holding cells beneath the mansion, awaiting interrogation.
Two days after the poisoning, Mama was busy unpacking our clothes in the suite when a soft tap sounded at our door.
I trotted over and pulled it open.
Standing in the hallway was Alejandro. He wasn't wearing his suit jacket; instead, he wore a simple black turtleneck that accentuated his broad shoulders. In his hand, he held a small, beautifully wrapped gift box tied with a silver ribbon.
"May I come in?" he asked, looking down at me with a rare, gentle expression.
"Yes," I said, stepping aside.
Alejandro walked into the living room, handing the box to me. "Open it."
I carefully pulled the ribbon away and lifted the lid. Inside rested a magnificent, handcrafted porcelain music box that played a soft, soothing lullaby when wound up, alongside a small, silver locket engraved with the letter E.
"For saving my life," Alejandro explained simply, crouching down so I could fasten the locket around my neck.
"Thank you, Alejandro," I whispered, smiling up at him.
Before he could answer, a loud, frantic pounding echoed from the main foyer downstairs, followed by shouting and the unmistakable crack of a gunshot.
Alejandro’s entire demeanor shifted instantly. In less than a second, the gentle benefactor vanished, replaced by the ruthless syndicate boss. His hand flashed to his holster, his dark eyes hardening into obsidian steel.
"Stay here," he ordered in a voice that left no room for debate. He drew his pistol, turned on his heel, and strode out of the suite, slamming the heavy reinforced door behind him.
From the hallway below, the muffled sounds of gunfire erupted into a full-scale firefight.
Mama rushed out of the bedroom, her face pale with terror. "Emma! What was that? Where is Mr. Moretti?"
"He went downstairs," I said, clutching my music box tightly.
Suddenly, the security intercom mounted beside the door crackled to life. Marcus’s urgent voice filled the room.
“Mrs. Valente! Secure the suite! Carmine’s men have breached the perimeter gate! They're trying to wipe out the inner circle! Do not open this door for anyone except the boss or myself!”
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The line went dead with a loud static hiss.
Outside our fourth-floor windows, the night sky lit up with red emergency flares. The war for the Moretti empire had come to our doorstep.
