Chapter 2 - Shadows of the Syndicate
In a fraction of a second, Aleandro’s military training took over. He lunged across the small living room, tackling Ruth to the hardwood floor just as a high-caliber bullet whined through the air, embedding itself deeply into the plaster right where Ruth’s head had been a moment before.
"Marco! Cover!" Aleandro yelled, drawing his suppressed custom SIG Sauer from beneath his jacket.
Marco was already moving. He threw himself in front of Annie, wrapping his body around the screaming toddler, shielding her beneath his heavy Kevlar-lined coat.
Outside, the muffled thwip-thwip-thwip of a sniper rifle echoed from the rooftop across the alley. The glass from the broken window rained down as another round tore through the small apartment, shattering the framed photo of Elena on the dresser.
"They're on the roof across the street!" Marco shouted over the chaos, pulling his weapon. "It's a hit squad! Boss, we need to move NOW!"
Aleandro didn't hesitate. He grabbed Ruth under her arms, lifting her weak frame as if she weighed nothing, and pulled her behind the thick brick wall beside the doorway. He looked over at Marco, who was holding a terrified, weeping Annie.
"Annie!" Aleandro called out, his voice cutting through her panic like a beacon. "Look at me, little girl!"
Annie opened her eyes, tears streaming down her pale cheeks, her little body trembling violently. "Aleandro! I'm scared!"
"I know," Aleandro said, his eyes burning with an intense, calm certainty. "I know you are. But I promise you, nothing is going to hurt you. Remember the coat? You're brave, Annie. I need you to hold onto Marco’s neck as tight as you can. Can you do that for me?"
Annie swallowed hard, nodded frantically, and buried her face into Marco’s neck, her little hands gripping his collar with all her strength.
"Smoke!" Aleandro ordered Marco.
Marco pulled a tactical smoke canister from his belt, popped the pin, and hurled it through the shattered window. Within seconds, thick, white billows of smoke filled the room, completely blinding the sniper across the street.
"Go! Go! Go!"
Aleandro hoisted Ruth into his arms, carrying her out into the dimly lit hallway. Marco followed right behind, guarding their rear with his gun raised. They raced down the creaking wooden stairs, the sounds of shouting echoing from the lower levels.
Donato Valenti had sent his soldiers to clean up. The Valenti family must have caught wind that Aleandro was visiting this abandoned building and decided to take out the head of the Moretti family in one bloody strike, framing it as a rival hit.
As they reached the second-floor landing, two heavily armed men in tactical gear burst through the entrance doors at the bottom of the stairs, automatic submachine guns raised.
"Moretti!" one of them yelled.
Aleandro didn't give them the chance to fire. Raising his pistol over Ruth’s shoulder, he fired three precise shots. The suppressed rounds hit their targets with lethal accuracy. The two gunmen collapsed down the steps.
"Out the back exit!" Aleandro barked, his heart hammering against his ribs—not out of fear for himself, but out of a desperate, furious need to keep the old woman and the child alive.
They burst out into the freezing rear alleyway. Aleandro’s armored sedan was idling, guarded by two of his top soldiers who had already drawn their weapons, covering the alleys.
"Get them in!" Aleandro yelled.
Marco threw open the heavy, bulletproof rear door of the sedan. He slid in with Annie, while Aleandro gently placed the exhausted, hyperventilating Ruth onto the leather seat beside her.
"Drive!" Aleandro ordered the chauffeur, sliding into the front passenger seat and slamming the door just as a volley of bullets peppered the reinforced body of the vehicle. The bulletproof glass spiderwebbed, but held firm.
The heavy luxury vehicle roared to life, its powerful V8 engine screaming as the driver smashed through a wooden alley barricade, bursting onto the main avenue and speeding toward the Manhattan Bridge.
Inside the back seat, Annie was sobbing hysterically. Ruth was slipping into unconsciousness, her face blue from the exertion and lack of oxygen.
Aleandro turned around in his seat, his eyes fixed on the small child. "Marco, give her oxygen. Ruth needs the emergency mask from the medical kit in the door."
Marco quickly pulled the portable medical oxygen kit from the center console, fitting the mask over Ruth’s face. Slowly, the old woman’s agonizing gasps began to stabilize, her color returning slightly.
Aleandro then looked at Annie. The little girl was shivering, clutching her wet, ragged stuffed rabbit.
"Annie," Aleandro said softly, extending his hand over the seat.
The child reached out immediately, wrapping her tiny fingers around his thumb. She held on as if he were the only anchor in a storm.
"Is Grandma going to heaven like Mommy?" Annie whimpered, her voice breaking.
Aleandro felt a deep, unfamiliar pain twist in his chest. He had seen death, dealt death, and lived in its shadow his entire adult life. But the innocent horror in this child's eyes shook him to his absolute core.
"No, Annie," Aleandro said, his voice absolute and unwavering. "Grandma is not going anywhere. I am taking her to a place where doctors will fix her heart. And I am going to take care of you."
"Are you our prince?" she asked innocently, wiping a tear with her sleeve. "In the bedtime stories, princes save people from bad men."
A dark, wry smile touched Aleandro’s lips, though his eyes remained fierce. "No, Annie. I'm not a prince. I'm much worse than a prince to bad men. But to you... I am your family."
Twenty minutes later, the convoy pulled up to the private rear entrance of New York Presbyterian Hospital. A specialized team of trauma surgeons and cardiologists, personally summoned by Aleandro’s phone call ten minutes earlier, was waiting with a gurney.
Ruth was carefully transferred out of the car. As they wheeled her inside, she reached out, her pale hand feebly catching Aleandro’s sleeve.
"Aleandro..." she whispered, her voice weak beneath the oxygen mask.
He leaned down. "I'm here."
"Protect her..." Ruth begged, tears brimming in her eyes. "Don't let... don't let Julian take her. Promise me."
Aleandro grabbed her frail hand, pressing it firmly. "Julian will never touch her. You have my word as a Moretti. Now go let them save your life."
Ruth nodded weakly as the double doors of the emergency surgical bay swung closed, separating them.
Aleandro turned around. Marco was standing in the high-tech, private waiting lounge holding Annie, who had finally succumbed to absolute exhaustion, her small head resting on Marco’s shoulder, asleep.
"Boss," Marco said quietly, walking over. "We swept the building in Brooklyn. The sniper escaped, but we found something in his nest. A dropped burner phone."
Aleandro took the phone from Marco. "Did you trace the last call?"
"Yes," Marco’s voice was dark. "The call wasn't made to Donato Valenti. Donato’s men were just muscle hired to create chaos. The order to eliminate Ruth Bennett came from a private server located in Milan, Italy."
Aleandro’s jaw hardened into solid marble. "Julian."
"Julian knows Ruth is alive, boss," Marco said. "He must have found out she was raising his daughter. If the truth comes out that Julian has an heir—a child he abandoned—it makes him look weak, a liability to his faction in Europe. Or worse... he wants the child so he can use her to challenge your legitimacy as head of the family."
Aleandro looked down at the sleeping child in Marco’s arms. The dark hair, the delicate facial structure—she had the Moretti features, but the innocence in her eyes belonged entirely to her mother, the innocent woman Julian had destroyed.
"He won't get the chance," Aleandro said, his voice dropping into a register of sheer terror. "Call the estate. Tell the security detail to prepare the master wing. My niece is coming home."
"And Valenti?" Marco asked. "He tried to take you out tonight."
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Aleandro turned toward the floor-to-ceiling glass window overlooking the rainy skyline of New York. His reflection was that of a predator awakening from a long slumber.
"Call a meeting of the Five Families for tomorrow night," Aleandro commanded. "Tell them the Moretti Don is hosting. And tell Donato Valenti... he better bring a very good apology, or a very good casket."
