Chapter 2 - Shadows in the Gallery
By eight o'clock in the morning, the rain had settled into a heavy, relentless drizzle that washed the summer dirt down the stone driveways of the Moretti estate.
In the grand conservatory, Isabella Romano sat on a wrought-iron bench beneath a canopy of tropical ferns, sipping Earl Grey tea from a porcelain saucer. She wore a ice-blue silk dress that highlighted her dark hair and pale, flawless skin. To anyone watching through the glass walls, she looked like the picture of an expectant, aristocratic bride reflecting on her upcoming nuptials.
Only her left thumb gave her away—it rubbed frantically against her index finger, a nervous habit she had spent five years trying to eradicate.
When footsteps echoed across the damp flagstones, she didn't jump. She carefully set her teacup down and looked up with a warm, practiced smile that had fooled three mayors, two federal judges, and the most dangerous man in Cook County.
"Good morning, my love," she said, reaching her hand out toward Aleandro as he approached. "Did you manage to sleep?"
Aleandro didn't take her hand. He sat on the bench opposite her, leaning back with his legs crossed, resting his arm along the back of the iron seat.
"I slept well enough," Aleandro replied softly. "I was thinking about your father."
Isabella’s fingers twitched against her knee. "Carmine? He's resting at the clinic in Lake Forest. The doctors said his heart is stable enough for him to attend the ceremony next week."
"That's good," Aleandro said, his voice dropping into a conversational tone that felt sharp enough to shave with. "It would be a tragedy if Carmine missed the culmination of all his hard work. He spent thirty years trying to take the West Side docks from my family. It must give him immense satisfaction to know his daughter is taking the whole house."
Isabella’s smile didn't break, but her eyes went very bright, very still. "What an odd thing to say, Aleandro. My father loves you like a son."
"Does he?" Aleandro tilted his head, watching a droplet of condensation track down the glass panel behind her head. "And the man in my study last night... does he love me like a brother?"
Isabella let out a soft, melodious laugh that sounded slightly too loud for the quiet room. "I told you, that was Julian Vance—an old associate of my family's shipping business. He was desperate, Aleandro. I gave him five thousand dollars from my personal safe and told him never to come back here again."
"Julian Vance," Aleandro repeated the name, nodding slowly. "Odd. I didn't know Agent Richard Vance had a brother named Julian."
The air in the conservatory turned instantly to ice.
Isabella’s breath caught in her throat. The color drained from her lips, leaving her face looking like carved chalk under the diffuse morning light. Her hand darted toward her silk handbag lying on the bench beside her, but before her fingers could touch the leather strap, the shadow of a large man fell across her lap.
Mikhail, Aleandro’s six-foot-four chief of security, stepped out from behind the palm trees. Without a word, he picked up her handbag, opened it, and pulled out a small, nickel-plated revolver and a secondary encrypted satellite phone.
"He's very thorough, your handler," Aleandro murmured, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "Coming into my house disguised as a midnight beggar. But you made a mistake, Isabella. You used the servants' corridor. You thought my staff were invisible objects that wiped floors and emptied trash."
"Aleandro..." Isabella’s voice lost its musical ring. It became thin, sharp, and desperate. "Listen to me—"
"No," Aleandro cut her off softly. "You listen to me. For two years, I let you sleep in my bed. I let you walk through my vault. I gave you my mother's ring." He looked down at her bare left hand. "Which, I notice, you took off three hours ago."
Isabella swallowed hard, her chest heaving beneath her silk dress. The mask was gone now. In its place was the cold, cynical operative who had been raised in the brutal theater of Chicago’s underworld.
"If you kill me," Isabella spat, her eyes flashing with venom, "the DOJ executes the warrants within sixty minutes. Vance has two dozen agents stationed at the perimeter of your estate right now. They're waiting for my signal at noon. If I don't send the clearance ping from that satellite phone, this place will be crawling with federal tactical teams before lunch."
Aleandro stood up slowly. He adjusted his suit jacket, smoothed his tie, and looked down at her with an expression of profound, crushing pity.
"You really think you're the only one who knows how to make a deal with the government, Isabella?"
Aleandro turned his back on her. "Mikhail. Take Miss Romano to the guest suite in the basement cellar. Strip her of all electronics. Do not harm her... yet. She still has a wedding to attend."
"Aleandro! ALEANDRO!" Isabella screamed, her nails scraping uselessly against the stone bench as Mikhail grabbed her by the elbows, hauling her effortlessly to her feet. "You can't win this! It's over! The whole city knows!"
Aleandro didn't look back as her screams faded down the concrete stairs leading into the estate's subterranean security levels.
He walked out into the main foyer, where Sophia stood near the grand staircase, holding a dusting cloth, her face pale as a sheet. She had heard everything.
"Sophia," Aleandro called out quiet.
"Y-yes, Mr. Moretti?"
"Pack a bag for you and Emma," Aleandro said. "My driver will take you to my estate in Geneva, Switzerland, on the afternoon flight."
Sophia’s eyes went wide. "Sir? Are... are you firing us?"
Aleandro walked over to her, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a heavy brass key and a bank draft made out for five hundred thousand dollars. He pressed them gently into her calloused hand.
"This house is about to become very noisy, Sophia," Aleandro said softly, looking down at the maid with genuine warmth. "And your daughter has already seen enough secrets for one lifetime. Take the money. Buy a house near the lake in Lucerne. Never come back to Chicago."
Tears welling in her eyes, Sophia looked at the check, then up at the man who had the reputation of a devil, but who was handing her a new life.
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"Why are you doing this for us?" she whispered.
"Because three hours ago," Aleandro said softly, "your daughter saved my life. And unlike my bride... I always pay my debts."
