Chapter 4 - The War in the Shadows
Though the serpent’s head had been cut off in the ballroom, the body of the Duca syndicate was far from dead.
For two weeks, New York was plunged into a quiet, vicious war beneath the surface of normal life.
Salvatore Duca’s two eldest sons—vicious, reckless men named Marco and Gianni—refused to accept their father’s arrest or the destruction of their trade routes. They mobilized forty armed soldiers from northern New Jersey, launching hit-and-run attacks against Moretti warehouses in Queens and firebombing two of Alessandro's restaurants in Manhattan.
The city held its breath. The police turned a blind eye, knowing better than to step between two warring mob families.
Inside the Moretti mansion, security was raised to wartime levels.
Steel shutters covered the lower windows, armed guards patrolled the iron gates with trained attack dogs twenty-four hours a day, and heavily armored SUVs sat idling in the driveway ready for instant movement.
Yet, amidst the tension of bulletproof glass and tactical radios, the third floor of the mansion remained an oasis of warmth and peace.
Rosa and Lily had not moved to the Brooklyn townhouse yet; Alessandro had insisted they stay at the estate until the Duca threat was entirely eliminated.
Every morning at eight o’clock, Alessandro sat at his massive mahogany dining table, sipping dark black coffee while reading intelligence reports from his lieutenants.
And every morning at eight-fifteen, a tiny, barefoot storm would burst into the dining room.
"Morning! Morning!" Lily would sign excitedly, her tiny hands waving through the air as she scampered across the polished floor, her small red sneakers squeaking against the wood.
Behind her, Rosa would hurry into the room, wearing a simple, elegant beige sweater and jeans that Alessandro’s personal stylist had delivered for her.
"Lily, slow down!" Rosa called out gently, her cheeks flushing red. "Signor Moretti is working!"
Alessandro would immediately set his intelligence reports face down on the table. The ruthless Don, whose name made mob bosses in New Jersey sweat, would lean down, catch the three-year-old in mid-stride, and scoop her up into his broad chest.
Did you sleep well, little warrior? Alessandro would sign with one hand while holding her securely with the other.
I had pancakes in my dream! Lily signed back, giggling hysterically as she pulled at Alessandro’s silk tie. Big pancakes with berries!
Then we shall have real pancakes today, Alessandro signed, looking up at his personal chef who was standing near the kitchen entrance. "Pierre. Blueberries and chocolate chips. Immediately."
"Right away, boss," the French chef bowed, smiling warmly.
Rosa sat down in the chair beside Alessandro, shaking her head with a mixture of fond disbelief and quiet affection.
"You're spoiling her, Alessandro," Rosa said softly.
Over the past two weeks, the formal distance between them had slowly melted away. They no longer spoke as master and servant, nor as mob boss and victim. They spoke as two survivors who had found a strange, peaceful rhythm in the middle of a war zone.
"A child should be spoiled," Alessandro replied, setting Lily down in a high chair that had been specially purchased for the grand dining room. "My brother Mateo used to love chocolate chip pancakes. I haven't thought about that in twenty years."
Rosa looked at him, her eyes soft with deep understanding. She reached across the table, her hand resting briefly over his scarred knuckles.
"He would be proud of you, Alessandro," Rosa whispered. "You saved us."
Alessandro looked down at her small, warm hand against his. A strange, unfamiliar warmth bloomed inside his chest—a feeling he hadn't experienced since he was a boy.
Before he could answer, the heavy double doors of the dining room swung open.
Dante stepped inside, his expression dark, his hand resting on his tactical harness.
"Boss," Dante said, his voice flat. "We have a situation at the North River docks. Marco and Gianni Duca just hijacked three of our container ships. They took six of our men hostage."
Alessandro’s face turned back to stone in a single second.
He slowly removed his hand from Rosa’s, standing up from the table.
"Where are they holding them?" Alessandro asked, his voice dropping into a register of deathly coldness.
"Warehouse 14," Dante replied. "Marco sent a message. He wants you to come alone. If you bring guards, he starts shooting the hostages every five minutes."
Rosa gasped, her hand flying to her chest. "Alessandro, no! It’s a trap!"
Alessandro looked down at Rosa, then at little Lily, who was happily swinging her legs in the high chair, unaware of the conversation.
May you like
He leaned down, touching Rosa’s cheek with his thumb.
"I built this city, Rosa," Alessandro whispered softly. "It’s time I reminded the Duca family who owns it."
