Chapter 4 - The Infiltration
Two weeks passed. Spring began its slow, reluctant pull over the Midwest, melting the thick banks of snow into rushing streams along the driveways of the estate.
The change inside the Moretti home was subtle, yet profound.
Sophia had taken over the management of the domestic staff with a quiet efficiency that won over even the oldest, most hardened guards. The main house, once a sterile, dark museum of polished marble and dark wood, began to smell of fresh citrus, beeswax, and warm vanilla pastries.
And then there was Emma.
The three-year-old girl had effectively turned the estate’s three-acre walled garden into her personal kingdom. And wherever she went, Bruno followed.
The terrifying attack hound had become an immovable sentinel. When Emma sat on the grass to pick dandelions, Bruno lay beside her, letting her weave yellow flowers into his iron collar. When she ran down the gravel paths, her red dress fluttering behind her, Bruno trotted at her heels, his eyes scanning the surrounding trees for the slightest hint of danger.
Aleandro spent more time working from his ground-floor library now. He claimed it was because the light was better for reviewing financial ledgers. But Marco knew the truth: the library’s floor-to-ceiling windows looked directly out onto the garden.
Every afternoon at 2:00 PM, Aleandro would sit at his desk, a leather folder open before him, watching through the glass as Emma tried to teach Bruno how to dance by standing on his front paws.
"She’s good for him, Boss," Marco noted one afternoon, standing by the library door with a security tablet in hand. "The vet came by yesterday for Bruno's annual checkup. He couldn't believe it. The dog's blood pressure is down, his limp is almost gone, and he didn't even growl when the vet checked his teeth."
Aleandro didn't look up from his papers. "The dog is getting lazy."
"He's not lazy, Boss," Marco smiled faintly. "He’s happy."
Before Aleandro could respond, Marco’s tablet let out a sharp, double-beep—an emergency perimeter alert from the southern fence.
Marco’s smile vanished instantly. His fingers flew across the screen, pulling up the live security feed from camera nine. "We’ve got a breach. Two men jumped the outer wall near the greenhouse."
Aleandro stood up instantly, his dark eyes snapping into lethal focus. "Who?"
"Facial recognition is running now... damn it. It’s Valenti’s men. Frankie sent hitmen into the compound."
Aleandro reached into his desk drawer, pulling out his dark titanium pistol and racking the slide with a cold, metallic CLACK. "Where are they?"
Marco looked at the screen, and his face went instantly pale as death. "Boss... they aren't going for the main house. They’re in the southern garden."
Aleandro’s blood ran cold. The garden.
Without a single word, Aleandro bolted out of the library, sweeping through the French doors into the hallway, his heavy boots echoing like thunder against the marble floor as he raced toward the south entrance.
In the garden, the afternoon sun was warm.
Sophia was inside the greenhouse retrieving a box of seedling pots, leaving Emma playing near the stone fountain with her teddy bear.
Two men in black tactical gear stepped out from behind the tall boxwood hedges. One carried a suppressed pistol; the other held a heavy canvas bag and a zip-tie restraint. They weren't there to kill Aleandro. They were there to steal the child—Frankie’s desperate, sick attempt to gain leverage over the Moretti family.
"Grab the kid! Fast!" the first gunman hissed, rushing forward.
Emma looked up from the fountain, her hazel eyes wide, clutching her teddy bear against her chest. "Who are you?"
The gunman reached out his heavy, gloved hand to grab her collar.
He never touched her.
Out of the shadow of the hedges came three hundred pounds of pure, terrifying fury.
Bruno didn't bark. He didn't warn. He launched his massive body through the air like a cannonball, his jaws clamping down with bone-crushing force onto the gunman's outstretched forearm.
The man let out a blood-curdling scream as he was slammed violently onto the stone pavement.
"Shoot the dog! Shoot the dog!" the second gunman screamed, raising his suppressed pistol toward Bruno’s head.
Before he could pull the trigger, a gunshot shattered the air.
The second gunman’s pistol flew from his hand as a bullet tore through his wrist. He stumbled back, clutching his shattered hand, howling in pain.
Aleandro stepped out from the archway, his gun raised, his face a terrifying mask of absolute, unadulterated vengeance. Behind him, Marco and four armed security guards flooded the garden, instantly surrounding the two intruders.
"Don't move," Aleandro whispered, his voice so cold it made the surrounding air feel like ice.
Bruno was standing over the first gunman, his paws planted on the man's chest, his bloody jaws hovering two inches from the hitman's throat, letting out a low, vibrating growl that shook the ground.
Aleandro walked forward, his gun pointed straight at the second gunman’s head. He didn't look at the hitmen. He looked down at Emma, who was sitting near the fountain, trembling slightly, holding her bear.
Aleandro dropped to one knee—a posture no man in Chicago had ever seen him assume—and pulled Emma into his chest, covering her tiny body with his coat.
"Are you hurt?" Aleandro asked her, his voice suddenly shifting from lethal killer to fierce protector.
Emma buried her face in his neck, her tiny arms wrapping tightly around his collar. "The bad men tried to take my bear," she sobbed softly.
Aleandro held her tight, feeling her small heart beating rapidly against his ribs. He stroked her dark hair with his gloved hand. "Nobody is taking anything from you ever again, sweetheart. I promise you."
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He stood up, carrying Emma in his left arm, and looked at Marco. His eyes were devoid of any human mercy.
"Take these two to the basement," Aleandro ordered flatly. "Find out who authorized this breach. And then... call a full war council. The Valenti family ceases to exist tonight."
