Chapter 3 - The Snake in the Grass
The rain had turned to slush by five in the morning. Inside the grand study of the Moretti estate, the air was thick with the scent of aged whiskey, gun oil, and unspoken danger.
Gabriel sat behind a massive mahogany desk, tapping a heavy silver signet ring against the wood. Vincent stood beside him, flanked by four of Gabriel’s most trusted Enforcers—men who had bled for the Moretti family for decades.
"Mateo has been skimming from the Brooklyn docks for six months," Vincent reported, sliding a stack of financial documents across the desk. "He was cutting a deal with the Russian Vor in Brighton Beach to take over your territory. But he knew as long as Daniel was alive, you would never step down or compromise."
Gabriel stared at the photograph of Mateo Rossi—a man he had treated like a brother for fifteen years.
"He tried to smother a sick child," Gabriel murmured, his voice frighteningly low. "A six-year-old boy in a hospital bed."
"Mateo thinks you're still at the hospital," Vincent said. "He doesn't know we evacuated Daniel to Westchester, and he definitely doesn't know the cleaning lady survived."
Gabriel stood up slowly, adjusting his cuff links. "Gather the men. We hit Mateo’s penthouse at six a.m."
"I'm coming with you," a quiet voice spoke from the shadows of the doorway.
Gabriel turned sharply. Elena was standing near the door, wearing the gray tracksuit, holding onto the doorframe for support. Her face was pale, but her dark eyes were burning with a fierce, uncompromising determination.
"You can barely walk," Gabriel said sternly. "Go back to bed."
"I saw the man who attacked me," Elena said, stepping into the room despite the obvious pain in her side. "He had a ring on his pinky finger with a red stone. He told the other man, 'Mateo wants it done before the morning shift.' I can identify his voice. If you go in there without proof, his loyalists in your syndicate will claim you're just purging your leadership out of paranoia."
Gabriel stared at her, genuinely astounded by her sharp tactical intuition. She was right. The Moretti family was governed by a council of old-school capos. If Gabriel executed his underboss without absolute, ironclad proof, it could spark an internal civil war across New York.
"This isn't a hospital floor, Elena," Gabriel warned, stepping closer to her, his shadow completely enveloping her small frame. "In my world, when we confront a traitor, blood is spilled. You are a civilian."
"I stopped being a civilian the second that bastard put his hands on my neck in Room 412," Elena replied softly, looking up into Gabriel’s dark eyes without an ounce of fear. "You saved my life, Mr. Moretti. Let me help you protect your son's."
Gabriel looked into her eyes for a long, heavy moment. He felt a strange, unfamiliar heat blooming in his chest—a feeling he hadn't experienced since his wife had passed away five years ago during Daniel’s birth. This woman wasn't just brave; she was unbreakable.
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"Vincent," Gabriel growled softly. "Get her a bulletproof vest. She stays in the armored car with you until the building is secured."
"Understood, Boss," Vincent grinned, offering Elena a look of genuine respect.
