Chapter 1 - The Fourteenth Floor
The quiet hum of the air conditioning unit inside Room 1408 was the only sound breaking the heavy silence on the fourteenth floor. Marco didn’t hesitate. Pushing the heavy oak door open completely, he stepped onto the plush carpet, his hand instinctively resting on the inside of his jacket. The room was half-cleaned—a fresh set of white towels rested on the arm of a velvet armchair, and a housekeeping cart stood parked near the window.
On the floor beside the king-sized bed lay Sofia Rossi.
Her body was curled in a tight, protective curve, one arm pressed against her ribs. Her breath came in shallow, rattling gasps, her lips dry and parted. In her right hand, clutched so tightly her knuckles were translucent white, was a crumpled piece of hotel stationery.
Marco immediately dropped to one knee, checking her carotid artery. Her skin was burning—a dangerously high fever that radiated through her thin cotton uniform. He activated his earpiece. "Boss. Found her in 1408. She's unconscious, burning up, and breathing poorly. We need medical here now."
Down in the lobby, Alessandro didn't blink. He looked down at Emma, who was still holding her worn teddy bear. Her dark eyes were fixed on his, watching every micro-expression.
"Marco found your mom," Alessandro said softly, his voice devoid of the lethal coldness that usually defined it. "She’s sick, Emma, but we are going to fix it. Do you trust me?"
Emma looked at him for a long, heavy moment before nodding once. "You don't smell like cigarettes like Mr. Victor does. And you spoke to me without shouting."
Alessandro stood up, gesturing to two discreetly dressed security guards standing near the entrance. "Get my private vehicle to the underground bay. Call Dr. Valenti. Tell him to prepare the private wing at St. Jude's. No questions, no paperwork until I arrive."
He extended his hand to Emma. The seven-year-old placed her small, cold hand inside his broad palm. Together, they walked toward the private executive elevator—a side of the hotel no guest ever saw.
When the elevator doors opened on the fourteenth floor, Marco was already waiting with two paramedics who had arrived via the service entrance. Sofia was carefully lifted onto a gurney. As they moved her, the paper clutched in her hand fluttered to the carpet.
Alessandro stepped forward, picking up the folded sheet before anyone else could touch it. He unfolded it slowly. It wasn't a suicide note, nor was it an apology for unfinished work. It was a handwritten ledger page from the hotel’s internal accounting software—copied down in frantic, hurried ink.
It listed offshore transfers routed through the Palazzo Romano’s routine maintenance accounts. Millions of dollars were being systematically siphoned out under the guise of vendor payments to fictitious supply companies. At the bottom of the page, a single name appeared as the approving authority: Victor Vance, General Manager.
Alessandro’s eyes narrowed into dark, frozen slits. Victor hadn't just been withholding a sick woman's wage out of cruelty or petty corporate greed; he was using unpaid staff turnover to cover up massive embezzlement. If Sofia died of her illness or was fired for "missing work," her payroll queries would vanish with her, leaving no paper trail.
"Boss," Marco whispered, leaning in as the paramedics wheeled Sofia into the elevator with Emma holding onto the side of the gurney. "Victor is currently in the executive lounge on the top floor. He's hosting a private dinner for several municipal inspectors."
Alessandro refolded the paper and slid it into his inner breast pocket. He looked at Emma, who was looking back at him from inside the elevator, her face pale but resolute.
"Take care of the girl and her mother," Alessandro instructed Marco. "Ensure Dr. Valenti gives her the absolute best care money can buy. Place four men outside her room."
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"And Victor?" Marco asked, his tone darkening.
Alessandro checked his gold timepiece. It was 11:52 PM. "Victor has eight minutes left as General Manager."
