Chapter 3 - Poison in the Tea
The change inside the Moretti estate over the next three weeks was subtle, yet absolute.
Emma Rossi no longer sat hidden in the cold staff room. By Alessandro’s explicit decree—one that had sent shockwaves through the household staff—Emma was allowed free rein of the ground floor during Sophia’s shifts.
A small, wooden desk had been placed in the corner of the great library, equipped with drawing paper, colored pencils, and picture books. Every afternoon at three o'clock, Alessandro would sit at his massive mahogany desk reviewing dock manifestos and extortion ledgers, while six feet away, Emma sat quietly drawing pictures of red boots, snowmen, and giant black cars.
They rarely spoke, but the cold, oppressive atmosphere that had defined the house for a decade had vanished.
Rosa Bellini, the head housekeeper, hated it.
She stood near the kitchen doorway, her arms crossed over her chest, watching Sophia polish the silver service set in the butler’s pantry.
"You think you're special now, don't you?" Rosa hissed, her voice low and venomous. "Because Mr. Moretti bought your brat some clothes? Don't forget who you are, Sophia. You're a widow from Salem Street. When the Don gets bored of his little charity project, you'll be back in the gutter."
Sophia didn't look up from her work. "I do my job, Mrs. Bellini. I don't ask for favors."
"You better watch yourself," Rosa sneered, stepping closer. "And keep that girl out of the east wing. There are important meetings happening this week. Men from New York. Dangerous men. If she gets in the way—"
"If who gets in the way, Rosa?"
Alessandro’s voice drifted from the dark hallway like a velvet blade.
Rosa spun around, her face instantly turning a pale, sickly yellow. Alessandro stood near the arched entryway, dressed in a sharp gray suit, his hands tucked casually into his pockets. Dante stood two steps behind him, his massive frame blocking the light.
"M-Mr. Moretti!" Rosa stammered, clutching her apron. "I was just... I was just reminding Sophia of the house rules, sir!"
"Sophia follows my rules," Alessandro said, stepping into the pantry. He looked down at Rosa, his dark eyes terrifyingly calm. "I hear your son, Paulie, has been hanging around the docks near Pier 14 lately. I thought I sent him to work at the warehouse in South Boston."
Rosa’s breath caught in her throat. "Paulie... Paulie is just looking for extra hours, sir! He’s a good boy!"
"Pier 14 is where Victor Falcone manages my shipping manifests," Alessandro said smoothly. "Tell your son that if I catch him near my docks again without my permission, Dante will personally escort him to the bottom of the harbor."
Rosa bowed her head, her hands shaking uncontrollably. "Y-yes, Mr. Moretti. Of course, sir."
She hurried out of the pantry, her shoes clicking frantically against the tile floor.
Sophia looked up at Alessandro, her hands trembling as she held the silver polishing cloth. "Mr. Moretti... is there... is there trouble with the docks? My husband... Daniel... he died at Pier 14."
Alessandro’s eyes softened slightly as he looked at her. "I know, Sophia. The crane collapse two years ago."
"The company said it was an accident," Sophia whispered, tears pooling in her eyes. "A snapped cable. But Daniel was a good mechanic. He told me the day before he died that the cables were fine, but someone was bypassing the weight sensors to move heavy crates at night."
Alessandro’s jaw tightened. "Who was in charge of the crane crew that night, Sophia?"
"Victor Falcone," she said softly. "He was the shift supervisor."
Alessandro stood motionless in the pantry. The puzzle pieces that had been floating around his empire for eighteen months—missing inventory, unregistered shipments, unrecorded cash flow—suddenly snapped into brutal, crystal-clear focus.
Victor Falcone wasn't just stealing from him. He was responsible for the death of Daniel Rossi.
"Dante," Alessandro said, his voice dropping into a deadly whisper.
"Yeah, Boss?"
"Call a meeting of the inner council for tomorrow night at nine," Alessandro ordered. "Tell Falcone I want the complete financial records for Pier 14 on my desk."
"You got it, Boss."
That evening, as the snow began to fall again over Boston, Rosa Bellini stood in the dark pantry, pouring hot chamomile tea into Alessandro’s personal porcelain cup.
Her hands shook so violently she nearly spilled the water. She reached deep into her apron pocket and pulled out a small glass vial containing a clear, odorless liquid—given to her by her son Paulie an hour earlier behind the estate garage.
"Just a few drops every night, Ma," Paulie had whispered in the dark. "It makes his heart slow down. By Tuesday, he’ll look like he had a stroke in his sleep. Then Victor takes over, and we get the docks."
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Rosa’s face twisted with terror and hatred. She uncapped the vial and let three clear drops fall into the steaming tea, watching them dissolve instantly into the dark amber liquid.
She placed the cup onto a silver tray and walked toward the library.
