Chapter 4 - The Shadow at the Window
Two weeks passed, and Sadi’s recovery progressed rapidly under the care of the estate staff.
The bandages came off, leaving four faint, pink scars across her ribs and collarbone—permanent marks of the day her world changed forever.
She spent her days exploring the vast grounds, reading in the estate’s extensive library, and sitting with Rosa in the greenhouse learning how to cultivate rare orchids.
Yet, despite the luxury, Sadi was acutely aware of the invisible cage surrounding her.
Armed men patrolled the grounds day and night. Dominic left early every morning in his armored motorcade and returned late at night, often smelling of rain, gunpowder, and heavy stress.
One cold Tuesday evening at midnight, Sadi stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of the master bedroom, looking out over the dark pine woods.
A sudden flash of light caught her eye near the eastern perimeter fence.
She leaned closer to the glass.
Two hundred yards away, near the treeline, a silver sedan was idling with its lights off.
Sadi watched as a dark figure stepped out of the woods, approached the fence, and threw something small over the iron bars before sliding back into the vehicle and speeding away into the night.
Sadi’s heart hammered against her ribs.
She turned and ran into Dominic’s study.
Dominic was sitting at his mahogany desk, reviewing financial ledgers with Viktor, his chief lieutenant. Both men snapped their heads up as she pushed the heavy door open.
“Sadi? What’s wrong?” Dominic asked, instantly standing up, his hand reflexively dropping toward the holster beneath his arm.
“There was a car at the eastern fence,” Sadi gasped, catching her breath. “A silver sedan. Someone threw something over the iron bars into the garden.”
Dominic’s expression darkened instantly. He looked at Viktor.
“Lock down the main house,” Dominic ordered softly. “Bring the perimeter team.”
Viktor pulled his radio from his belt, barking commands as he sprinted out of the study.
Dominic walked around the desk, grabbed a high-powered flashlight from a side drawer, and reached for Sadi’s arm, guiding her behind him as they descended to the ground floor.
Five minutes later, Viktor and three armed guards walked into the glass conservatory, holding a sealed black plastic box covered in wet mud.
“We found it near the orchid beds, Boss,” Viktor reported, his face grim.
“Open it,” Dominic commanded, shielding Sadi behind his shoulder.
Viktor used a combat knife to slice through the heavy tape sealing the box. He flipped the lid open.
Inside lay a single, bloody aprons—the exact black canvas apron Sadi had worn at Sal’s Diner on the day of the shooting—pinned to the wood by a rusted iron dagger.
Pinned to the apron was a handwritten note written in bold, red ink:
The ring won't keep her breathing, Russo. The ledger must be balanced.
Sadi felt the air leave her lungs. The blood in her veins ran instantly cold.
It was a direct threat from Matteo Moretti.
Viktor cursed under his breath in Italian, while the security guards instinctively raised their weapons, scanning the dark windows of the conservatory.
Dominic didn't curse. He didn't raise his voice.
He stepped forward, pulled the knife from the wood, and picked up the note. He read the words once, his face turning into a mask of pure, unadulterated marble.
He turned to Viktor.
“Call Frankie,” Dominic said, his voice dropping into a register so dark it sent a violent shiver down Sadi’s spine. “Tell him to assemble the strike teams.”
“Boss?” Viktor asked, his eyes wide. “The truce with Don Vincent—”
“The truce died the moment Matteo threw his garbage onto my mother’s property,” Dominic snapped, his voice booming through the conservatory like thunder. “I want Matteo Moretti brought to the warehouse off 13th Street by three o'clock tomorrow morning.”
He turned around, grabbed Sadi by the hand, and pulled her back toward the main house, his grip iron-tight, his eyes burning with an incandescent, terrifying fire.
“Dominic, wait!” Sadi pleaded as he pulled her up the stairs to the master suite.
May you like
He brought her inside, locked the heavy oak door behind them, and turned to face her, his breathing heavy, his hands trembling with rage.
“You aren't leaving this room again, Sadi,” Dominic stated, his voice tight and frantic. “Not until every single man carrying the Moretti name is six feet under the mud.”
