Chapter 7 - The Moretti Shadow
Over the next three weeks, life inside the Conti estate transformed entirely.
The garden suite became a true home for Mia and me. Mrs. Higgins proved to be a wonderful, kind nanny who adored Mia, taking her on long walks through the estate's private gardens and reading her storybooks by the fireplace in the evenings.
As the supervisor of the private quarters, my daily routine changed drastically. I no longer scrubbed floors or carried heavy laundry baskets. Instead, I managed a team of six vetted junior maids, organized the maintenance of the estate's vast art collection, and worked directly alongside Dom to audit the household security protocols.
Every morning at eight o'clock, Alessandro and I met in his private dining room to review the day's schedule. What began as formal business meetings quickly evolved into something much deeper. We talked about art, history, and the management of the estate. I learned that beneath his terrifying reputation as a mafia boss, Alessandro was a deeply intelligent, cultured man who carried the heavy burden of protecting hundreds of families dependent on his empire.
And slowly, undeniable sparks began to ignite between us.
A lingering touch of our hands over a file folder, a quiet share of laughter over Mia’s childish antics, or the way his dark gray eyes would follow me whenever I walked into a room—the quiet tension between us grew stronger with every passing day.
However, the shadow of the Moretti family still hung over the estate like a gathering storm.
It was a rainy Thursday evening in late November. Mia was fast asleep in her room, and I was in the secondary archive room on the third floor, cross-referencing inventory logs from the display gallery against the master digital register.
The mansion was quiet, save for the steady patter of rain against the high arched windows.
Suddenly, the lights in the archive room flickered twice and went out entirely, plunging the room into total darkness.
I froze, my breath catching in my throat.
The estate had a triple-redundant industrial generator system. A standard power outage was virtually impossible unless someone had manually severed the primary power lines from the exterior junction box.
A second later, the quiet hum of the emergency backup lights kicked in, casting a dim, red glow across the wooden file cabinets.
CLICK.
The sound of a heavy door lock turning echoed from the far end of the archive hallway.
My heart slammed against my ribs. I reached into my coat pocket, my fingers wrapping tightly around the silver master keycard Alessandro had given me.
Footsteps echoed down the corridor—slow, heavy, and unfamiliar. They weren't Dom's brisk, light steps, nor were they Alessandro's firm, rhythmic stride.
I ducked behind a heavy mahogany filing cabinet, pulling my knees to my chest, holding my breath.
Two men dressed in dark raincoats stepped into the red-lit doorway of the archive room. Both held silenced handguns lowered at their sides.
"Greta said the master ledger was kept in the third-floor archive," one of the men muttered in a thick, coarse accent. "Find the file on the harbor shipping routes before the backup guards reset the breakers."
"What about the girl?" the second man asked, opening a steel cabinet with a crowbar. "The new supervisor?"
"If you see her, eliminate her," the first man replied coldly. "The Don elevated her after Greta fell. She's a liability."
Blood rushed in my ears, loud and deafening. They weren't just here to steal shipping documents; they were Moretti hitmen sent to complete the job Greta had failed to do.
I pressed my back against the steel cabinet, my mind racing violently. Mia was down in the garden suite with Mrs. Higgins. If these men cleared the third floor, they would move down to the residential wings.
I had to warn Alessandro.
I reached for my radio on my belt, but realized with a sick shock that I had left it on the reading desk ten feet away—directly in the line of sight of the two gunmen.
I had to move.
Carefully, silently, I slid my hand along the floor, my fingers finding a heavy brass paperweight sitting on the lower shelf of the cabinet.
I picked it up, took a deep breath, and threw it with all my strength toward the far corner of the hallway outside the room.
CLANG!
The heavy paperweight shattered a glass display case thirty feet down the hall.
"What was that?" the first gunman snapped, spinning around with his weapon raised. "Over there! Check the gallery!"
Both men rushed out of the archive room, running toward the source of the sound.
The instant they vanished down the hall, I bolted from behind the cabinet, grabbed my radio from the desk, smashed the button, and screamed into the receiver:
May you like
"Dom! Alessandro! Code Red on the third floor! Intruder—"
Before I could finish the sentence, a heavy hand grabbed me from behind, slamming me violently against the mahogany desk, knocking the air straight out of my lungs.
