Chapter 5
Over the next two weeks, the atmosphere inside the Moretti mansion underwent a profound, almost absurd transformation.
The house, which had been a cold, silent fortress where servants walked on eggshells and men carried assault rifles openly, was suddenly filled with the bright, uncontrollable energy of a three-year-old child.
Emma could be seen riding on Bruno's back through the grand drawing rooms, treating the three-hundred-pound monster like a prized pony. The hardened guards who stood at the entrances found themselves forced to accept imaginary cups of tea served in plastic pink teacups during their shift rotations.
Even Marco, Alessandro’s lethal right-hand man, was once spotted sitting on the marble steps of the grand staircase, carefully holding Emma’s teddy bear while she tied a blue ribbon around Bruno’s neck.
"If the Rossi family saw us right now, they'd attack out of sheer embarrassment," Marco muttered to Alessandro one afternoon, standing on the second-floor balcony watching Emma chase Bruno across the snowy courtyard below.
Alessandro stood beside Marco, holding a cup of espresso, his eyes fixed on the scene. "The Rossi family wouldn't dare."
"Maybe not," Marco agreed, his tone growing serious. "But Vance is growing desperate. He lost thirty percent of his street distribution after you seized Volkov’s cargo. Our informants say he’s hired independent contractors."
"Mercenaries?" Alessandro asked, taking a sip of his coffee.
"Worse. Ex-cons with nothing to lose," Marco reported grimly. "He knows Sophia is here, Boss. One of the kitchen staff we let go last week ran her mouth at a tavern on 5th Street. Vance knows his ex-wife and daughter are living under your roof."
Alessandro’s grip on his porcelain espresso cup tightened until the white knuckles showed. "Find the former kitchen staff member. Make sure she leaves the state by midnight. And double the perimeter detail."
"And Vance?" Marco asked. "Do we take him out?"
"Not yet," Alessandro said, his gray eyes darkening like an approaching storm. "He thinks he’s hunting. I want him to come to me. I want him to break the gates so I can destroy him completely in front of everyone who doubts my resolve."
Down in the courtyard, Sophia emerged from the side doors carrying a warm woolen jacket for Emma. As she wrapped the coat around her daughter, she looked up toward the second-floor balcony.
Her eyes met Alessandro’s.
Even from fifty feet away, the intensity of his gaze was electric. A blush crept up Sophia’s neck. In the two weeks since moving to the east wing, her relationship with the mafia boss had become a complex, unspoken dance. He was no longer just the terrifying master of the house; he was the man who personally checked on Emma every evening, the man who ensured Sophia had fresh flowers in her room, and the man whose subtle touch could set her entire body on fire.
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Sophia offered him a shy, soft smile.
On the balcony, Alessandro’s stoic expression softened. He lowered his coffee cup and gave her a single, firm nod—a gesture of ownership, protection, and something far deeper that neither of them had yet dared to name.
