Chapter 2 - The Gathering of the Wolves
The line went dead for three seconds, but the quiet on the other end of the phone was more terrifying than any weapon.
“Where are you, Anna?” Luca asked. His voice wasn't loud. It had dropped into that low, flat register he used when he was calculating damage—the tone he hadn't used since our father died twelve years ago.
“The guest suite on the east wing of the estate,” I whispered, resting my head against the cold mahogany of the locked door. My wrists were swollen, purple, and raw where the security rope had dug into my skin. Every breath felt like a knife dragging across my ribs. “The main doors are locked from the outside. Adrian took my personal phone and my purse. He doesn't know I have this satellite line.”
“Who was in the room?” Luca asked.
“Adrian. Vanessa Crowe. His mother Eleanor, his brother Marcus, and his father. Plus his two private security guards—Glover and Vance.”
“And Marcus recorded it?”
“Yes. He was laughing.”
I heard the heavy sound of a engine turning over in the background, followed by the deep, rhythmic murmur of four other voices entering the line. Luca had instantly bridged the call to my four other brothers: Dominic, Marco, Mateo, and Leo.
“Anna,” Dominic’s voice cut through the speaker, sharp and cold as surgical steel. Dominic ran our family’s forensic risk and intelligence firm. “Are you bleeding?”
“My wrists and shoulders,” I whispered. “He used a leather riding crop from the stables. Thirty strikes.”
A collective exhaling of breath sounded across the line. It was a dark, synchronized sound—the sound of five men who had spent their youth ruling the streets of New York, now armed with billions of dollars in corporate legitimate power, suddenly being given a reason to return to their roots.
“Mateo,” Luca commanded flatly. “Take two tactical units from our private security division. Jam all cellular and satellite frequencies within a two-mile radius of the Vale estate starting at 3:00 AM. No one leaves that property. No one calls the police, their lawyers, or their PR team.”
“Already in the vans,” Mateo answered, his voice icy. Mateo managed our specialized security and executive protection operations. “We’re six minutes out.”
“Marco,” Luca continued. “What do we have on Vale Financial?”
Marco, the financial strategist who managed the Moretti family’s holdings and corporate acquisitions, answered instantly. “Vale Financial is holding sixty million in leveraged real estate bonds backed by our offshore syndicate bank. Adrian’s father signed a personal guarantee on their corporate headquarters last month. I can call in the note by 4:00 AM. By 8:00 AM, the Vales won't own the shoes on their feet.”
“Do it,” Luca ordered. “Leo, what about the girl?”
Leo, the youngest of my brothers, who ran our media and digital intelligence network, let out a dark, wicked laugh. “Vanessa Crowe? Her father runs a boutique fashion PR firm that survives entirely on a three-million-dollar credit line from our logistics division. I’ve already canceled the line. I’m also uploading her tax filings to the IRS criminal investigation portal as we speak.”
“Anna,” Luca spoke directly to me again, his voice softening just a fraction. “Can you walk?”
“I can stand,” I said, gritting my teeth as I forced myself up off the floor, leaning against the bedpost. “Luca... don't just break them legally. They laughed. Eleanor told Adrian to make sure I learned my place. Marcus put a video on his private group chat.”
“They won't just be broken, little sister,” Luca promised, his words heavy as a gravestone. “By the time the sun comes up over New York, the Vale name will be a curse. Keep your head down. We’re at the gates.”
I hung up the satellite phone and hid it beneath the mattress.
Outside the guest room window, the night was dead silent. The party guests had departed an hour ago, completely oblivious—or completely indifferent—to the barbaric show that had played out in the private ballroom. Downstairs, I could hear the faint sound of champagne glasses clinking and Vanessa’s light, fake laughter echoing through the central courtyard. They were celebrating. They actually thought they had put the quiet, modest Anna Moretti in her place.
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They had forgotten that you can take a wolf out of Brooklyn, put her in a diamond necklace, and lock her in a mansion, but her pack never stops watching.
Three minutes later, the lights across the entire twenty-acre Vale estate flickered twice and died completely.
