Chapter 3 - The Traitor’s Architecture
"Clear the room," Aleandro said.
His voice wasn't loud, but the command acted like a physical wave. Gabriel motioned to the tactical guards, who immediately began ushering the domestic staff, line cooks, and dishwashers toward the service exit.
"Not her," Aleandro added, pointing a single finger at Hannah.
Gabriel paused, his hand resting on the doorway frame. "Aleandro, with all due respect, she’s staff. We don't know what—"
"She found it," Aleandro cut him off cleanly. "You walked over those tiles forty times this week, Gabriel. She found it in five seconds because she pays attention. She stays."
Gabriel’s jaw twitched, but he nodded once, shutting the heavy mahogany kitchen doors, locking out the rest of the estate. Only four remained in the kitchen: Aleandro, Gabriel, Hannah, and Maximus, who sat beside Hannah’s left leg like a statue carved from onyx.
Aleandro turned to Gabriel. "When was this wing constructed?"
"The original foundation was laid in 1928 by the O’Donnell family," Gabriel answered quickly, his tone tight and defensive. "It was built during Prohibition. Rum-running tunnels connect the lakefront to the basement infrastructure. When we bought the estate six years ago, we brought in structural engineers to cap every entry point with three feet of poured hydraulic concrete."
"Evidently," Aleandro said, staring down into the dark shaft, "your engineers missed a spot."
"Or someone paid them to leave a seam open," Hannah offered quietly.
Both men looked at her.
"Look at the concrete lip," Hannah said, pointing down with her flashlight. "That hydraulic cement wasn't poured incorrectly. It was core-drilled from below after it hardened. You can see the circular teeth marks in the stone. That requires heavy industrial machinery. You can't hide that kind of noise unless the estate was completely empty—or unless the chief of security told the night shift to ignore the vibration."
Gabriel’s face flushed dark red. He stepped toward Hannah, his pistol held loosely at his side. "Are you accusing me of something, lady?"
Maximus immediately stepped between Gabriel and Hannah, his upper lip curling back to reveal broad, lethal white teeth. A warning rumble vibrated through the floorboards.
Gabriel froze in his tracks.
"Easy, Gabriel," Aleandro murmured, though he made no move to pull the dog back. He looked at Hannah with a strange, calculating intensity. "You know a lot about concrete drilling for a woman who vacuums my rugs."
"My ex-husband was a commercial foundation contractor in West Chicago," Hannah said, her voice steady despite the adrenaline surging through her veins. "I kept his books for six years before he walked out on me and my daughter. I know what core-drilling looks like, Mr. Vitali. And I know it costs thirty thousand dollars to hire a crew that doesn't ask questions."
Aleandro looked down into the shaft again. "Gabriel, call the technical counter-surveillance team up from the city. I want every inch of this shaft mapped by midnight."
"My internal team can handle it—" Gabriel began.
"I said call the city team," Aleandro interrupted, his dark eyes locking onto Gabriel’s face. "The team that reports directly to me. Not to your office."
A heavy, dangerous silence settled over the room. Gabriel swallowed, bowed his head, and pulled his encrypted phone from his jacket. "Yes, boss."
As Gabriel stepped toward the window to make the call, Aleandro leaned close to Hannah. The scent of rain, cedar, and high-voltage ozone lingered around them.
"You have an eight-year-old daughter, correct?" Aleandro asked quietly.
Hannah’s heart dropped into her stomach. "Lily. Yes."
"Where is she right now?"
"At my sister’s apartment in Oak Park."
Aleandro reached into his pocket, pulled out a small black leather wallet, and extracted a sleek, silver keycard without markings. He held it out to her.
"Take my private vehicle in the garage," he instructed. "My driver, Frank, will take you to Oak Park. You will bring your daughter and your sister here. To the main guest house."
Hannah stared at the silver card. "Mr. Vitali, I don't understand—"
"Whoever installed that wire knows you found it tonight," Aleandro said, his voice dropping into a register of sheer, cold absolute reality. "They saw your hands on the tile. They saw you trace the heat. By tomorrow morning, you are either a key witness in a syndicate purge or a liability someone needs to eliminate."
May you like
He pressed the keycard into her palm, his fingers warm against her cold skin.
"Under my roof," Aleandro said, "you and your daughter are safe. Outside my gates, tonight, you are target practice."
