Chapter 6 - The War Room
The scent of bleach and copper lingered in the air, a sickening reminder of the violence that had just stained the immaculate floors of the West Wing.
Within minutes of the kitchen shootout, the Moretti estate had transformed into a military compound. Men in tactical gear flooded the corridors. The shattered French doors were boarded up with reinforced steel plates. Dr. Rossi had returned, dispensing mild sedatives for Maria and checking Emma over for a third time. My daughter was unharmed, thankfully asleep in my arms, exhausted from the terror.
"Take them back to the third floor," Alessandro commanded his enforcer, Dante. "Post four men at the door. Two on the balcony. No one enters unless it's me."
I held Emma tight, my hands still trembling. I looked at Alessandro. He had washed the blood from his hands and changed into a fresh black shirt, but the lethal energy vibrating off him hadn't diminished.
"What are you going to do?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Alessandro paused, his dark eyes meeting mine. "I am going to finish what Lorenzo Cole started."
The next few hours were a blur of adrenaline and fear. I laid Emma in the massive canopy bed, wrapping the Egyptian cotton sheets tightly around her. I paced the length of the suite, the heavy silence pressing against my eardrums. Every shadow outside the window felt like a sniper; every creak of the floorboards felt like an intruder.
By sunrise, I couldn't stand it anymore.
I opened the suite door. The four armed guards immediately stiffened, hands resting on their holstered weapons.
"I need to see him," I said.
"Mr. Moretti left strict orders—" the tallest guard began.
"I don't care," I interrupted, surprising myself with the sharp edge of authority in my voice. "If he wants me to be his assistant, I need to assist. Take me to him."
The guards exchanged a look, but eventually, one nodded and led me down the grand staircase. We bypassed the study and descended into the basement—a sprawling, subterranean level I had never been permitted to clean.
The heavy steel doors slid open, revealing a state-of-the-art war room. Banks of monitors covered the walls, displaying live camera feeds of the Brooklyn port, the city streets, and various properties across New York. Around a massive glass table sat the high echelon of the Moretti family—Alessandro’s capos. Six terrifying, scarred men in expensive suits.
At the head of the table stood Alessandro.
The room went dead silent when I walked in. Six pairs of cold, assessing eyes locked onto me.
"Boss," one of the capos, an older man with a brutal scar across his jaw, grunted. "Who is the girl?"
"She is my assistant," Alessandro said smoothly, his eyes flashing a warning to the room. "And she is the reason we know the Coles have been moving weight through our docks. Have a seat, Elena."
He pulled out the chair directly to his right. The seat of honor. The seat of the underboss.
I swallowed hard, keeping my spine straight as I walked to the chair and sat down. I could feel the skepticism radiating from the capos, but none of them dared to speak against Alessandro.
"Status report on the harbor," Alessandro demanded, turning his attention back to the screens.
"We seized four containers belonging to the Cole shell company," Dante reported, tapping a tablet. "Elena was right. They weren't textiles. It’s military-grade hardware. Assault rifles, explosives, armor-piercing rounds. Lorenzo was gearing up to sell them to the Russian bratva to cover his father's gambling debts."
"And Senator Cole?" Alessandro asked.
"Pleading ignorance. He’s hiding in his Manhattan penthouse, claiming his son went rogue. Vanessa is with him. But Lorenzo is in the wind."
Alessandro braced his hands on the glass table, leaning forward. "Lorenzo doesn't have the brains to go into the wind on his own. Someone is hiding him. Find the rat."
He turned to me, his expression softening just a fraction. "Are you alright?"
"I’m fine," I lied. "What do you need me to do?"
May you like
Alessandro slid a tablet toward me. "The offshore accounts you found yesterday. I need you to track the routing numbers. Find out exactly who Lorenzo is paying for protection."
I stared at the screen, the dizzying array of numbers blurring together. I was a maid yesterday. Today, I was hunting a mobster. I took a deep breath, tapped the screen, and got to work.
