Chapter 4 - The Closed Room
The air inside Arya’s room was still, smelling faintly of old lavender, dry paper, and the passage of forgotten time.
Dust motes danced in the pale morning light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Everything was untouched. The small bed with its pink floral duvet, the wooden desk covered in colored pencils, the dollhouse in the corner—it was a snapshot of a life abruptly cut short.
Alessandro walked slowly into the room.
He walked past the small bed, past the stuffed rabbit, and stopped directly in front of the window overlooking the sunflower garden.
He looked down. Through the glass, he could see the ivy-covered wall, the old oak tree, and the tiny shape of Emma sitting on the damp earth with her mother kneeling beside her.
From this window, the garden was completely visible.
Alessandro turned around and looked at the chair near the desk.
The red knitted sweater hung over the wooden backrest, exactly as it had been left three years ago.
Alessandro picked up the sweater. He brought the soft wool to his face and inhaled deeply. The faint scent of baby powder and sunshine still lingered in the threads, bringing a fresh, agonizing sting to his eyes.
"Arya," he whispered into the empty room. "Are you really here?"
He closed his eyes, letting the silence envelope him.
The loud man with the silver ring made her car go boom.
Alessandro opened his eyes. The grief in his expression vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating darkness.
He put the sweater down, pulled his satellite phone from his jacket, and speed-dialed a number he hadn't called in three years.
The line rang twice before a deep, gravelly voice answered.
"Don Moretti," said Victor Hale, his chief of security, who was currently stationed at the family's downtown logistics headquarters in Manhattan. "Is everything alright at the estate?"
"Victor," Alessandro said, his tone as sharp as a razor. "I need you at the mansion immediately. Bring the original police file from Isabella’s accident."
There was a brief pause on the line. Victor Hale had served the Moretti family for twenty years. He was a veteran soldier, a man who had bled for Alessandro’s father and helped Alessandro secure his throne during the brutal syndicate wars of the late 2000s.
"The accident file, boss?" Victor asked, his voice laced with subtle hesitation. "That case has been closed for three years. The police—"
"I don't care what the police wrote," Alessandro cut him off coldly. "I want the forensic photos, the vehicle inspection logs, and the list of every officer who touched that scene. And Victor?"
"Yes, Don Alessandro?"
"Come alone."
Alessandro hung up the phone.
He walked back out of the bedroom, locked the mahogany door behind him, and descended the stairs into the grand library.
He walked straight to the wall safe behind the oil painting of his grandfather. He entered the seven-digit combination, pulled open the heavy steel door, and reached for a black leather-bound ledger.
It was his personal black book—a ledger containing the names, affiliations, and identifying marks of every high-ranking member of the five New York crime families.
Alessandro sat down at his massive mahogany desk, opened the book, and began flipping through the pages.
He wasn't looking for names. He wasn't looking for territories or business transactions.
He was looking for a single detail.
A silver ring.
Most men in their world wore gold—thick, gaudy gold pinky rings set with diamonds or family crests to showcase their wealth and power. Silver was rare. Silver was old-fashioned, associated with specific crests or religious orders within the European factions.
Alessandro’s finger stopped on a page near the back of the ledger.
There were three men in the entire tri-state area who wore custom silver signet rings.
First: Dominick "The Hammer" Bruno, a brutal caporegime from the Brooklyn syndicate. Second: Father Thomas Vance, a corrupt chaplain who laundered money through waterfront charities. Third: Matteo Rossi—Alessandro’s own cousin, and the current underboss of the Moretti family.
Alessandro stared at Matteo Rossi’s name printed in sharp black ink.
May you like
Matteo had been the first person to arrive at the crash site three years ago. Matteo had been the one who handled the funeral arrangements. Matteo had been the one who insisted Alessandro step back from day-to-day operations to "grieve," while Matteo took over the family's lucrative shipping contracts at Port Newark.
And Matteo wore a thick, antique silver signet ring engraved with the crest of a striking viper.
