Chapter 4 - THE RETURN OF THE DON
The grand foyer of the Moretti mansion was illuminated by massive crystal chandeliers. High above, the marble staircase swept down in a double arc toward the heavy iron front doors.
Outside, rain lashed against the bulletproof glass windows. Six black SUVs were parked on the circular driveway, their high-beam headlights blinding the security guards standing at the gate.
The heavy iron doors swung open.
Dante Moretti stepped into the foyer, flanked by four heavy enforcers carrying suppressed automatic weapons. Dante was thirty-six, dressed in an expensive camel-hair coat, his face twisted into a smug, arrogant grin.
“Move aside, Viktor!” Dante shouted, waving a legal document in the air. “I have an emergency power of attorney signed by the county judge! Reports came in that my brother suffered a fatal stroke three hours ago! As the senior surviving Moretti, I am taking control of the estate and all port assets!”
The guards in the foyer lowered their heads, uncertain of how to react. Word of Alejandro’s poisoning had been tightly controlled, but rumor of his sudden collapse had already spread through the lower ranks.
“A stroke, Dante?” a deep, velvet voice echoed from the top of the marble staircase.
Dante froze. The color drained from his face as if he had seen a ghost rising from the grave.
Alejandro walked slowly down the stairs, flanked by Viktor and eight heavily armed enforcers loyal only to the Don. He wore a sharp black suit, his tie neatly knotted, his posture immaculate and towering. He looked healthier, sharper, and more dangerous than he had in years.
“Alejandro...” Dante stammered, taking a involuntary step back toward the door. “You’re... you’re alive?”
“Disappointed?” Alejandro asked smoothly, stepping onto the ground floor marble. “You spent six months planning my execution, brother. You bought off my private chef, bribed my guard Lucas, and installed a pinhole camera in my Dante’s Inferno book just to watch me suffocate on crushed peanuts.”
Dante’s eyes darted frantically toward his four enforcers, his breathing becoming shallow. “I... I don't know what you’re talking about! Lucas was a rogue guard! I came here out of brotherly concern—”
“Save your breath,” Alejandro interrupted cold-bloodedly.
Alejandro raised his right hand, holding a small digital tablet. He pressed play.
A high-definition video projected onto the large wall monitor in the foyer. It showed the live feed from the pinhole camera: Lucas standing over Alejandro’s collapsing body, followed by the four-year-old Emma running into the room with her EpiPen. But then the video shifted to an audio tap recorded forty minutes ago in Dante’s SUV:
“Find out who that little girl is,” Dante’s recorded voice screamed. “And eliminate her before Alejandro changes his will!”
The enforcers standing in the foyer gasped. The mafia code was strict: targeting an innocent child, especially a four-year-old girl under the Don’s roof, was a treasonous act punishable by death.
Dante’s own men lowered their weapons, stepping away from him in disgust.
“You violated the code, Dante,” Alejandro said, his voice dropping to a register that made the room vibrate. “You tried to murder your brother, and then you ordered a hit on a four-year-old child who saved my life.”
Dante dropped the legal papers, pulling a silver snub-nosed revolver from his coat pocket in a blind panic. “I’ll kill you myself!”
Before Dante could raise the gun, Viktor fired two shots.
The heavy rounds shattered Dante’s knees. He collapsed onto the marble floor, screaming in agony, clutching his shattered legs as blood pooled around his camel-hair coat.
Alejandro stepped up to his brother, looking down at him with pure disdain.
“You won't die tonight, Dante,” Alejandro whispered. “Death is an easy exit. You will spend the rest of your life in a dark cell beneath our shipping terminal in North Brooklyn. You will watch through a screen as the four-year-old girl you tried to kill inherits everything our family built.”
Alejandro turned to his men. “Take him away.”
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As the guards dragged the screaming traitor out into the freezing rain, Alejandro turned back toward the stairs.
Up at the top of the landing, standing behind the balustrade, stood little Emma, holding her pink rabbit backpack, watching the scene with calm, quiet eyes.
