Chapter 3 - The Shadow of the Docks
The thunder cracked directly over Villa Moretti, vibrating through the stone foundations as if the mountain itself were tearing apart.
Inside the library, emergency red lights flickered on, casting long, bloody hues across the walls as the main generator faltered under the storm's fury.
Alessandro didn't panic. He moved with cold, terrifying efficiency. In a single fluid motion, he ejected the encrypted chip from his laptop, slipped it into his breast pocket, and pulled his Beretta from his shoulder holster, racking the slide with a metallic clack.
"Clara," he commanded, turning to me with eyes like polished steel. "Stay in this room. Marco has four men outside this door. They are under orders to shoot anyone who touches that handle who isn't me or Marco. Do you understand?"
"Alessandro, please," I stammered, pulling Emma into my arms as she stirred from her sleep, rubbing her small eyes against the bright red light. "Don't leave us here. If Vivian is working with this man—"
"If Vivian is fleeing, it means her panic got the better of her," Alessandro said, stepping close to me. He reached out, his thick, warm fingers briefly brushing against my jaw, right where Vivian had struck me earlier. The touch was unbelievably tender for a man holding a weapon of war. "She knows I found the chip. She knows her father’s empire ends tonight. I will not let her—or Vane—reach the docks."
He turned to Emma, leaning down slightly. "Keep your bear safe, little one. I’ll be back soon."
Before I could answer, he unlocked the door and vanished into the shadowed corridor, Marco and three heavily armed soldiers falling into formation behind him like wraiths in black Kevlar.
Outside, the storm roared with renewed vengeance.
Ten minutes stretched into twenty. The red emergency lights flickered, casting long, dancing shadows across the mahogany bookshelves. Emma clutched her cream-colored bear against her chest, her chin trembling as she looked up at me.
"Mommy," she whispered, her small voice trembling. "Is the angry lady going to come back?"
"No, baby," I whispered back, kissing the top of her head as I paced the floor behind the heavy mahogany desk. "The angry lady is gone. Don Moretti is taking care of it."
Bang.
The sound didn't come from the corridor. It came from the far side of the library—behind the hidden floor-to-ceiling bookshelf that concealed the old servants' access staircase leading down to the wine cellars.
I froze.
The heavy wooden bookcase groaned on its rusted iron hinges, slowly swinging outward into the room.
A figure stepped through the dark opening, dripping wet, holding a small silver pistol equipped with a long suppressor.
It was Vivian.
Her red gown was soaked through, stained with dark mud around the hem, her hair plastered to her skull in wild, tangled strands. Her mascara had bled down her pale cheeks like black tears, giving her the look of a lunatic.
"You miserable, filthy little rat," Vivian spat, raising the pistol directly at my chest.
I took a step back, pressing Emma behind my skirt, my hand covering her mouth to keep her from screaming. "Vivian... don't do this. The estate is surrounded by Alessandro's men. You can't escape."
"I don't need to escape the estate," Vivian hissed, her hands shaking as she calibrated her aim. "The boat is already waiting at the private slip at the bottom of the cliff. Lorenzo is on board. All I needed was the ledger chip you brought into this house!"
She took two steps toward me, her eyes darting frantically around the desk.
"Where is it?!" she shrieked. "Where did Alessandro put the chip?!"
"He took it with him!" I lied, keeping my voice as flat as possible while my heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. "He loaded the data into his personal network and went to the main gate!"
"You're lying!" she spat, lunging toward the desk and sweeping a stack of brass paperweights off the mahogany surface, sending them crashing to the floor. "He wouldn't leave the physical drive! He knows Lorenzo has an auto-delete sequence mapped to that specific serial number! Give it to me, or I swear to God I'll put a bullet through that bastard child's head!"
Emma let out a muffled sob beneath my hand.
Instinct—pure, primordial mother’s instinct—took over.
I didn't think about the gun. I didn't think about the twelve crime families, or the Moretti dynasty, or the blood spilled on the marble outside.
I grabbed the heavy crystal decanter sitting on the side table—half-filled with thirty-year-old scotch—and swung it with all the strength left in my overworked, exhausted body.
CRASH.
The heavy glass caught Vivian full on the side of her jaw.
The decanter shattered into a hundred glittering shards, spraying amber liquid and glass across the carpet. Vivian let out a strangled groan, her eyes rolling back as she stumbled sideways, her gun discharging with a quiet pfft into the velvet rug before she collapsed onto her back, unconscious.
The heavy library doors burst open a second later.
Marco and his men flooded into the room, rifles raised, followed instantly by Alessandro.
Alessandro’s eyes took in the scene in a fraction of a second—the shattered crystal on the floor, the unconscious woman bleeding onto the rug, and me, standing over her with the jagged glass neck of the bottle still clutched in my bleeding hand, shielding my crying daughter.
For three seconds, no one moved.
Then, Alessandro dropped his gun into his holster, crossed the room in two massive strides, and pulled both me and Emma directly into his chest.
His arms wrapped around us like iron bands, his heart pounding wildly against his ribs. The scent of rain, gunpowder, and expensive cedarwood enveloped me.
"I’ve got you," Alessandro breathed into my hair, his body shaking with a rage that had finally turned into pure relief. "I've got you, Clara. You're safe."
I let out a ragged breath, the glass slipping from my numb fingers, dropping harmlessly to the rug as I buried my face into his shoulder, weeping silently while Emma held tightly to her cream-colored bear between us.
May you like
Alessandro looked over my head at Marco, his eyes cold enough to freeze water.
"Drag her down to the cells," he ordered, pointing at Vivian’s limp form. "And tell the squad at the dock... we aren't waiting for Lorenzo Vane to come to us. We’re going down to the water."
