Chapter 4 - The Infiltration
At 5:45 AM, the sky over Chicago was a bruised shade of purple, heavy with low-hanging storm clouds.
A non-descript white delivery van pulled up to the service gate of the Moretti estate. The gate guard, a burly soldier named Frankie who usually worked Carmine's docks, yawned and leaned out of his booth, tapping his flashlight against the driver’s window.
"Who is it?" Frankie grunted.
Sophie leaned across the driver's seat, holding up her plastic employee badge. "It's Sophie, Frankie. The morning prep team. Mrs. Moretti called for an early breakfast service."
Frankie flashed his light into the van, scanning the interior. Beside Sophie sat an elderly Italian woman—a real housekeeper Mateo’s team had intercepted and bribed to act as a cover. Frankie grunted, waved his hand, and pressed the buzzer.
"Make it quick," Frankie growled. "The bosses are sleeping upstairs. Don't make a sound."
The van rolled through the gates, parking near the rear kitchen entrance.
Sophie stepped out into the freezing morning air, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. Every instinct in her body told her to turn around, to run out through the gates and never look back at this house of killers. But the weight of the silver key against her chest kept her grounded.
She walked through the back door into the kitchen. The house was quiet, but it was a tense, artificial quiet. Two armed men in dark suits were sitting at the breakfast island, playing cards and drinking espresso. They barely glanced at her as she put on her black apron and pulled her hair back into a tight bun.
"Where's the rest of the staff?" one of the guards asked, flicking a card onto the counter.
"They arrive at seven," Sophie replied smoothly, keeping her head low as she began setting up the coffee urns. "I was told to prepare the library for a eight o'clock meeting."
"Library is off-limits until Mr. Russo comes down," the guard snapped.
Sophie paused, holding a tray of silver spoons. "Mrs. Moretti specifically requested the mahogany table in the library be polished before Don Santino’s guests arrive from the airport. If it's not done, I'll tell her you stopped me."
The guard cursed under his breath, waving his hand dismissively. "Fine. Ten minutes. And don't touch anything on the desk."
"Yes, sir."
Sophie picked up her tray, a bucket of cleaning supplies, and a microfiber cloth, moving swiftly down the service corridor toward the east wing.
The library was cold, the grand velvet curtains drawn tight against the gray dawn. The air still held the faint scent of Santino’s expensive tobacco and Lorenzo’s old leather books.
Sophie locked the massive oak door behind her, setting her cleaning bucket down without making a sound.
She walked directly to the west corner of the room. The portrait of Don Eduardo Moretti hung above a marble fireplace—a imposing figure with sharp, dark eyes that seemed to track her every move.
Her hands were shaking. She reached behind the heavy gilded frame, feeling for the keyhole Lorenzo had described. Her fingers brushed against cold metal. She inserted the silver key, turned it clockwise until a subtle click echoed in the quiet room.
The entire frame swung forward on concealed brass hinges, revealing a small, steel wall safe.
03-14-89.
She spun the mechanical dial—three to the right, fourteen to the left, eighty-nine to the right.
The heavy steel bolt retracted with a dull thud.
Sophie pulled the door open. Resting on a velvet lining was a small, matte-black heavy-duty USB drive marked with the Moretti family crest in silver.
She grabbed it, sliding it deep into her apron pocket, and quickly shut the safe door. She swung the portrait back into place just as a sharp, heavy knock rattled the oak door behind her.
"Hey! Maid! Your ten minutes are up!" the guard’s voice boomed through the wood.
Sophie’s breath hitched. She smoothed her apron, picked up her dust cloth, and walked toward the door. "Just finishing, sir," she called out, her voice remarkably steady.
She unlocked the door and pulled it open.
Standing in the hallway was not just the guard.
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Standing behind him, dressed in a sharp charcoal suit with a silk tie, was Santino Russo. His dark eyes narrowed as he looked down at Sophie, taking in her pale face and the bucket of cleaning supplies in her hand.
"Who authorized you to be in my library?" Santino asked, his voice low, silky, and immensely dangerous.
