Chapter 6 - What Emma Saw in the Garden
Back at the estate, the evening shadows were stretching long across the manicured lawns.
Aleandro walked through the rear French doors into the study. The room looked pristine, undisturbed. The oil painting hung innocently in its place behind the desk, hiding the empty space where the bug had once been taped.
A soft tap sounded at the door.
"Come in," Aleandro said.
The door creaked open, and Emma slipped inside, holding her small yellow notebook. Her mother, the housekeeper, was downstairs preparing dinner, giving the child a few minutes to wander the upper halls.
Emma walked right up to Aleandro’s desk, climbed onto the heavy leather chair without being asked, and slid the notebook across the mahogany surface.
"I remembered something else," the little girl said seriously.
Aleandro looked down at the notebook. Inside was a crude crayon drawing of the estate’s rear garden, complete with the stone fountain, the rose bushes, and a tiny, jagged black box sitting beside the trash bins.
"What is this, Emma?" Aleandro asked, his voice softening involuntarily when he spoke to her.
"The night before I found the thing behind the painting," Emma said, pointing a small finger at the black box in the drawing. "I couldn't sleep because my tooth was loose. I was looking out the window of the back guest room upstairs. I saw a man in a gray coat. He wasn't one of your guards. He didn't walk like them."
Aleandro’s attention sharpened instantly. "What did he do?"
"He was standing by the trash bins," Emma explained, her brow furrowing as she concentrated. "He took something out of his pocket and dropped it into the big green dumpster. Then he looked up at the window, but I hid under the sill so he wouldn't see me. But I saw what he was wearing. He had a ring on his finger—a big silver ring with a bird on it."
A bird.
Aleandro’s mind raced through every rival family, every cop, every federal asset he had ever crossed.
The Falcone family? No, their crest was a dagger.
The Marcone syndicate? A wolf.
A silver ring with an eagle.
The federal prosecutor's office. Specifically, Julian Cross’s personal security detail—a private contracting firm called Vanguard Security, run by ex-military operatives who moonlighted as dirty muscle for federal agencies looking to bypass constitutional warrants.
Julian hadn't just used Isabella; his team had infiltrated the estate's perimeter to plant the device directly, ensuring it couldn't be traced back to her alone if things went sideways. They were planning to burn her the moment she outlived her usefulness.
"You have eyes like a hawk, Emma," Aleandro said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small, wrapped chocolate he always kept in reserve. He slid it across the desk. "Did you tell anyone else about this?"
"No," she said, unwrapping the chocolate with a bright smile. "Just you, Mr. Moretti. Because you're the only one who listens."
"Keep it that way," Aleandro said, standing up and walking to the window to look out over the gardens where the man in the gray coat had stood. "And from now on, if you see anyone out there who doesn't belong... you come straight to me. Understand?"
She nodded solemnly, sliding off the chair and scampering toward the door just as footsteps echoed in the hallway outside.
The door opened.
Isabella stood on the threshold. She had changed into a simple emerald-green silk dress, her dark hair falling loosely around her shoulders. She looked tired, her eyes carrying the heavy, haunted shadow of a woman living a double life.
"Aleandro," she said softly, stepping into the room. "Dinner is almost ready. You’ve been locked in here all day. Are you okay?"
Aleandro turned away from the window, his face smoothing into the familiar, impenetrable mask of the man she thought she knew.
May you like
"I'm fine, amore," Aleandro said, walking toward her with measured, deliberate steps. "Just tying up some final business before the wedding. In three weeks, everything is going to change."
Isabella forced a fragile, trembling smile, though her eyes flickered with a sudden, unreadable panic. "Yes," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Everything is going to change."
