Chapter 4 - The Housecleaning
I didn't waste another second. I turned toward the glass doors and threw them open. Marco and Lev instantly straightened, their faces turning grim as they saw the look in my eyes.
"Sir?" Marco asked.
"Bring Silvio to the basement wine cellar," I ordered, my voice so quiet it sounded like a death rattle. "Tell him we have an urgent shipment issue from the docks. Do not let him bring his phone. Do not let him speak to his driver."
"Understood, Boss."
I turned back to Gemma. She was watching me, her face pale but her chin held high. She had risked her life, her career, and her sanity to fulfill a promise to a dead woman.
"Stay with my daughter," I told her, my hand finally coming to rest gently on her shoulder. The gesture was brief, but it carried the full weight of a Pellegrini’s protection. "If anyone—anyone at all—tries to enter that room without my direct clearance, Marco’s secondary unit has orders to terminate them on sight. You are the only doctor that matters now."
"Lorenzo," she called out as I reached the door.
I paused, looking back over my shoulder.
"Save her," Gemma said simply. "I'll handle the medicine. You handle the monsters."
The descent into the basement was the longest walk of my life. The air grew cooler with every step, the scent of damp brick and old vintage wine filling my lungs. When I pushed open the heavy iron door of the cellar, Silvio Corradi was already sitting at the oak tasting table, a glass of Chianti in his hand. He was sixty-five, his hair silver, his smile warm—the perfect image of a loyal uncle.
"Lorenzo, my boy!" Silvio beamed, gesturing to the bottle. "Marco said there was trouble with the Atlantic container. What's happened?"
I walked to the opposite end of the table. I didn't sit down. I reached into my pocket, pulled out the gold cross Gemma had given me, and dropped it onto the wood between us. It slid across the dark polish, hitting the base of his wine glass with a sharp clink.
May you like
Silvio’s smile froze. The color drained from his wrinkled cheeks in a single, terrifying heartbeat.
"You always did like the old traditions, Silvio," I said, leaning over the table, my eyes locking onto his with the absolute finality of a judge. "Let's talk about Zurich."
