Chapter 2 - The Name of Blood
The heavy silence inside the master suite felt colder than the marble floor beneath Emma’s tiny shoes.
Aleandro knelt before the child, his towering six-foot-two frame bent low, his dark suit jacket draped over his arm. His chest still burned from where the epinephrine had rushed through his bloodstream, pounding against his ribs like a sledgehammer. But he didn't care about the pain. He cared about the child shaking in front of him, clutching a faded plush rabbit against her chest.
“Tell me, little one,” Aleandro said, his dark eyes locked on hers with a quiet, terrifying focus. “Who did you see near the wine room?”
Emma swallowed hard, her small shoulders shivering inside her oversized jacket. Her eyes darted toward the window, where the flashing red and blue lights of the police cruisers painted the driveway in rhythmic shades of crimson.
“It was Uncle Julian,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the air conditioner. “He was talking to Mr. Arthur. He put the little glass bottle into Mr. Arthur’s pocket and said... he said Mommy would take the blame because of her husband.”
Aleandro’s breathing stopped completely.
Julian Moretti. His younger brother. His own flesh and blood. The man he had raised after their father died, the man he had given thirty percent of the family’s shipping enterprise to, the man who sat at his dinner table every Sunday evening.
And Arthur—the head butler who had served the Moretti estate for thirty-two years.
The pieces slammed together in Aleandro’s mind like two heavy steel doors. Julian knew about Sophia’s husband, David Carter. David had worked as a site supervisor for Moretti Construction until a fatal collapse three years ago. The company had paid out a settlement, but Julian had personally managed the legal filings.
Julian hadn't just framed a maid. He had built a fortress of lies using the ghosts of her past, making sure that when the poison hit Aleandro’s glass, the finger would point directly at the grieving widow who worked late shifts to buy medicine for her sick child.
“Boss!” Gideon, Aleandro’s chief of security, burst through the double doors, his face pale. “The detectives are taking Sophia down to the primary squad car. They’re transferring her to the central precinct under federal hold—”
“Stop them,” Aleandro said.
He didn't raise his voice. He didn't have to. The quiet command carried enough iron to freeze every man in the estate.
Gideon blinked, stunned. “Boss? The paper trail on her—”
“I said stop them, Gideon,” Aleandro snapped, standing up to his full height. He looked down at his desk, where his hand was still trembling slightly from the trace toxins lingering in his system. “If that car leaves my driveway with Sophia Carter in handcuffs, you will turn in your badge and your gun before midnight. Am I clear?”
“Yes, sir!” Gideon spun on his heel and sprinted down the grand staircase.
Aleandro turned back to Emma. He knelt down once more, reaching out his thick, calloused hand. “Emma.”
The little girl looked up, her brown eyes shiny with unshed tears.
“Your mother is not going to jail,” Aleandro said softly, his voice dropping into a tone no mob boss in New York had ever heard him use. “And no one in this house will ever scare you again. Do you trust me?”
Emma looked at his broad hand, then down at her pink rabbit backpack. Slowly, she reached out her tiny hand and laid it in his palm. “You promised you wouldn't let them hurt my mommy.”
“I don't break promises,” Aleandro replied, lifting her easily onto his hip. “Especially not to the girl who saved my life.”
Down in the courtyard, rain was beginning to slick the cobblestones. Two NYPD detectives had Sophia pressed against the side of an unmarked sedan, her hands cuffed behind her back. Her eyes were red, her hair pulled back into a messy bun, her uniform soaked from the sudden drizzle.
“Please,” Sophia begged, her voice cracking as she stared up at the high windows of the estate. “My daughter! Where is my daughter? She’s only four! She can’t be left alone!”
“Shut it, lady,” the lead detective muttered, shoving her toward the back seat. “You tried to murder the biggest boss on the East Coast. You’re lucky you’re making it to the precinct alive.”
“RELEASE HER!”
The thunderous shout echoed off the stone walls of the courtyard.
Julian Moretti stood on the terrace above, dressed in a sleek charcoal suit, a tumbler of scotch in his hand. He looked down at the scene with a practiced expression of grief and outrage, acting the part of the devoted brother mourning an attempt on his leader’s life.
“Gideon, what are you doing?” Julian called down, his eyebrows knit together. “Let the police do their job! She poisoned my brother!”
Gideon drew his sidearm, placing himself directly between the squad car and the estate gates. Six heavily armed Moretti guards stepped out from the shadows of the portico, their submachine guns drawn and aimed at the police vehicles.
The detectives froze, their hands dropping to their holsters. “What the hell is this?” the lead detective barked. “We have an arrest warrant signed by the district attorney!”
The heavy double doors of the manor swung open.
Aleandro walked out into the rain, carrying Emma on his left arm, his right hand buried in his trousers pocket. He wore no jacket, only a dark dress shirt rolled up at the sleeves, revealing the heavy silver watch his father had given him.
The courtyard went dead quiet.
Julian’s hand tightened around his glass of scotch so hard the crystal groaned. His jaw dropped, his face draining of every drop of color as he stared at his brother—alive, standing, and holding the child of the woman he had just framed.
“Aleandro?” Julian stammered, stepping down the stone stairs, his voice trembling slightly. “You... you’re awake? The doctors said the respiratory failure was total—”
“The doctors were mistaken,” Aleandro said smoothly, stepping past the police cars until he stood six inches from the lead detective. “Take the cuffs off her.”
“Mr. Moretti, with all respect, the evidence—”
“I don't care about your evidence,” Aleandro cut in, his voice as cold as ice. “This is my house. This is my property. And the woman you are holding is innocent. Take... the cuffs... off.”
The detective swallowed hard, looking at the six armed guards surrounding his car, then back at the terrified maid. He pulled out his key, unlocked the cuffs with a sharp click, and stepped back.
Sophia didn't wait. She stumbled forward, ignoring the rain, and threw her arms around Aleandro’s legs, bursting into uncontrollable, ragged sobs.
“Emma! Oh God, Emma!”
Aleandro lowered the child down into her mother’s arms. Emma wrapped her small arms around Sophia’s neck, burying her face in her mother’s soaked shoulder.
“I got you, Mommy,” Emma whimpered. “The big man said nobody hurts us.”
May you like
Aleandro stood over them, shielding both mother and child from the falling rain with his massive frame. Then he turned his head slowly, his dark, lethal gaze locking onto Julian, who was standing on the bottom step, sweating profusely despite the cool breeze.
“Julian,” Aleandro said softly, a dark smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Come inside. We need to have a family talk about the wine.”
