Chapter 2 - The Interrogation Room
The interior of the Moretti estate was a masterpiece of cold, monochromatic luxury. High ceilings, polished white marble, and priceless artwork created an atmosphere of absolute power. But behind the beauty was a fortress. As Alessandro led us down the main corridor, I noticed steel security shutters hidden above the doorframes and subtle camera lenses tracking our every move.
He led us into a grand, dark-wood library. A fire crackled softly in a massive stone fireplace.
"Sit," Alessandro said, gesturing toward a plush velvet sofa near the fire.
I sat down, pulling Lily into my lap. My daughter, completely oblivious to the fact that we had just survived a mob hit, looked around the room with wide, inquisitive eyes.
"Big books," Lily pointed at the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. "Like the library at school."
Alessandro walked over to a crystal decanter, poured two fingers of amber scotch, and downed it in a single gulp. He didn't pour a second glass. Instead, he walked over to a small mahogany table, picked up a silver tray containing a plate of fresh strawberries and chocolate biscuits, and carried it over to us.
He set the tray on the coffee table in front of Lily. "For you," he said softly.
Lily’s eyes lit up. "Can I, Mommy?"
"Say thank you to Mr. Moretti," I whispered, my voice still trembling.
"Thank you, Mr. Moretti!" Lily chirped, instantly grabbing a chocolate biscuit with both hands.
Alessandro sat in a heavy leather armchair opposite us, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His dark eyes locked onto mine with terrifying intensity.
"Talk, Grace," he said quietly. "Start from the beginning. How did Carlo find you?"
I took a shaky breath, holding my daughter close. "Eleven days ago, my husband—Lily’s father, Marcus—disappeared. He took all our savings, maxed out our credit cards, and vanished into thin air. I had three days before the landlord evicted us. I was applying for cleaning jobs all over the city."
"And Carlo approached you?"
"Yes," I nodded, tears stinging my eyes. "He came to my apartment complex. I don't know how he got my address. He offered me a job cleaning your private quarters for three times the normal rate. I thought it was a miracle. But then... on my second day here, he pulled me into the pantry."
I swallowed hard, remembering the cold threat in Carlo’s eyes. "He told me that if I wanted to keep the job—and if I wanted my daughter to stay safe in her daycare—I had to tell him who visited your office. He told me you were a paranoid monster who killed people for looking at you wrong. He said if I ever told you he was asking questions, he would make sure Lily and I disappeared into the Hudson River."
Alessandro’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek. A terrifying, cold stillness settled over him.
"He threatened a three-year-old child," Alessandro murmured, his voice dropping into a register so dark it sent chills down my spine. "In my own house."
"I was terrified, Mr. Moretti," I sobbed quietly. "I didn't report anything to him! I swear to God I didn't! I just tried to do my job and stay invisible. Today, when the daycare called about the broken pipe, I had nowhere else to take her. Carlo told me to keep her upstairs. But she slipped out while I was scrubbing the master bathroom."
Alessandro looked down at Lily, who was happily munching on her biscuit, chocolate smudged across her cheek.
"How did she know about the gun, Grace?" Alessandro asked softly. "A three-year-old doesn't recognize the outline of a concealed firearm under a tailored coat unless she’s seen one before."
A heavy, painful knot formed in my chest. I looked down at my little girl, memory washing over me like ice water.
"My ex-husband... Marcus," I whispered bitterly. "Before he ran away, he was getting involved with dangerous people. He brought a gun home once. He hid it under his jacket. Lily saw it. She asked him why he had a hard pillow under his coat. Marcus told her it was a 'sleeping guard.' She remembered."
Alessandro stared at me for a long moment, digesting every word. The air in the library was thick, heavy with the weight of my confession.
The heavy double doors of the library creaked open. Marco Bianchi stepped inside, wiping fresh blood from his knuckles with a white handkerchief.
"Boss," Marco said gravely. "Carlo's awake. He's talking."
Alessandro stood up smoothly. "What is he saying?"
"He didn't act alone," Marco reported, his eyes flicking nervously toward me and Lily. "He was working for the Russian syndicate. The Sokolov family. They paid him half a million to monitor your movements and plant a bug in your private study."
Alessandro’s eyes flared with lethal rage. "Dmitri Sokolov thinks he can bribe my staff and threaten civilians in my home?"
"There's more, boss," Marco added, his voice dropping. "Carlo said Sokolov has a contact inside the NYPD. They know Marcus Miller—Grace’s ex-husband. Marcus owed the Russians fifty grand in gambling debts. That’s why Carlo picked Grace. It wasn't random. They used her husband's debt to target her."
I gasped, my blood running completely cold. "Marcus? Marcus sold us out to the Russians?"
Alessandro turned his dark gaze back to me. The menace in his eyes was no longer directed at me; it was focused with laser precision on the monsters who had dared to use an innocent mother and child as pawns in a mob war.
"Marco," Alessandro barked a command. "Lock down the estate. Issue a red alert to all perimeter posts. Nobody leaves. Nobody enters."
"And the girl and her child, boss?" Marco asked. "Should I put them in a safe house?"
Alessandro walked over to me, looking down at Lily, who was now yawning sleepily, her belly full of biscuits.
"No," Alessandro said firmly. "They stay right here. In the master suite."
May you like
I blinked in shock. "Mr. Moretti... your master suite?"
"You're in danger, Grace," Alessandro said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "The Sokolovs know Carlo failed. They know you're here. The safest place in New York City is right beside me. And as long as you're under my roof, nobody—not the Russians, not the police, and certainly not your coward of an ex-husband—will ever lay a finger on you or your daughter again."
Related Stories
