Chapter 8 - The Estate in the Hills
The heavy wrought-iron gates of the Moretti estate swung open before Tessa's delivery van even came to a complete stop.
Pine-covered hills rolled away on all sides under a pale, star-studded night sky, the crisp mountain air carrying the sharp, clean scent of pine resin and damp earth. Following the GPS coordinates left on Vance's business card—which she had finally pocketed three days after the Pine Ridge raid—Tessa steered her van up the winding, immaculate asphalt driveway until she reached the main manor house. It was a sprawling estate of native stone and dark timber, looking more like an isolated mountain fortress than a mafia boss's residence.
As she put the van in park and cut the engine, the side door of the manor opened.
Vance stepped out into the crisp night air, walking toward the van with his hands comfortably resting in his pockets. But he wasn't alone.
Trotting heavily beside him on a thick leather lead was Caesar. The 140-pound mastiff looked transformed. The jagged surgical shave on its skull was healing cleanly, its coat gleamed like polished jet in the porch light, and its dark, intelligent eyes locked onto Tessa the second she opened the driver's side door.
The moment Tessa's boots hit the gravel, Caesar let out a low, happy rumble deep in his chest—a sound entirely divorced from the terrifying moans of the isolation ward. He pulled gently against the lead, walking right up to her and pressing his massive head firmly against her waist, almost knocking her off balance.
Tessa laughed, wrapping her arms around the dog's thick neck and burying her face briefly in his soft fur. "Hey big guy. Looks like you've been eating well."
"He hasn't touched his food in three days until twenty minutes ago," a new voice said from the shadows of the porch.
A man stepped down into the light. He was in his early sixties, with silver-gray hair, an impeccably tailored charcoal suit, and a presence so quietly commanding that the surrounding mountain air seemed to freeze around him. Victor Moretti. There were no bodyguards crowding him, no flashy displays of power—just the absolute, terrifying stillness of a man who owned the world he stood on.
Tessa straightened up, keeping one hand resting on Caesar’s collar. She didn't flinch, nor did she look away.
"Mr. Moretti," she said evenly.
Victor stepped closer, his dark eyes scanning her from head to toe with a clinical, analytical intensity. Then, a slow, genuine smile broke across his weathered face.
"Vance tells me you walked into a maximum-security isolation ward with zero credentials, sat on a freezing floor for forty minutes, and diagnosed a tracking chip malfunction better than my own corporate veterinary team," Victor said, his voice deep and resonant.
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"I just listened," Tessa replied simply. "Most people don't listen unless someone is screaming."
Victor nodded slowly, reaching out to stroke Caesar’s broad head. The mastiff leaned into his master's touch, completely calm. "In my world, Miss Rivera, everyone screams. They lie, they bargain, they betray. And the few loyal things I have left..." He paused, looking down at the dog before meeting Tessa's eyes again. "...are the only things money can't buy back."
