Chapter 3 - The Blood at the Eastern Gate
Rain lashed violently against the reinforced glass of the Moretti estate, turning the sprawling lawns into a slick, muddy labyrinth.
Outside the eastern gate, a dozen heavily armed guards stood in a tight perimeter, flashlights cutting sharp beams through the heavy downpour. At the center of the crime scene knelt Alessandro and Marco.
The shattered remains of Rosa’s phone lay scattered across the wet asphalt like broken glass diamonds. Just inches away, a dark, viscous smear of crimson was slowly washing away into the storm drains.
Alessandro crouched, dipping two fingers into the wet pavement. He lifted them, examining the streak of blood under the harsh beam of a tactical flashlight.
"It's fresh," Marco noted, checking his watch. "Less than ninety minutes since the perimeter alarm tripped. The guards on duty claim they didn't see anything, but whoever grabbed her used the blind spot near the old gardener's shed. That blind spot is only known to senior members of the household staff and our inner security team."
Alessandro stood up slowly, wiping his fingers on a handkerchief. The rain plastered his dark hair to his forehead, framing a face twisted into a mask of pure predator instinct.
"Not household staff," Alessandro corrected coldly. "An insider."
"You think Elena had something to do with this?" Marco asked, naming Elena Vance, his own sister and head of household logistics, who had managed the Moretti manor for a decade.
"Elena has managed this estate for ten years without a single breach," Alessandro said, his eyes scanning the dark treeline beyond the gate. "If a traitor is working from the inside, they needed administrative clearance to bypass the eastern motion sensors during the shift change at midnight. Who signed off on the maintenance schedule for the gate cameras yesterday?"
Marco’s face paled slightly as the realization hit him. "The logs... the maintenance logs were signed off by Lieutenant Colin."
Colin. A veteran enforcer who had bled for the Moretti family in three different turf wars. A man Alessandro considered as close as a brother.
"Bring him to the study," Alessandro commanded, turning his back on the rain. "Quietly. I want no alarms, no noise. If he takes one step toward the perimeter, put a bullet in his spine."
"Understood, boss," Marco muttered, pulling his coat tighter against the storm.
As Alessandro walked back toward the grand manor, his mind raced. Rosa's confession echoed in his ears. The daughter of the man your syndicate eliminated in Chicago. She had spent three years hiding in plain sight, guarding his secrets while carrying the weight of a blood feud.
And now, the Santoros—their fiercest rivals in the tristate area—had her.
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Alessandro walked through the heavy oak doors, stepping into the warm, brilliantly lit foyer. Upstairs, behind a heavy oak door, three-year-old Lucas was asleep, safe for the moment, cradling his wooden horse.
The war had come to his doorstep. And Alessandro Moretti was going to burn every last enemy to the ground to get her back.
