Chapter 4 - Whispers in the Dark
Night fell over the Russo estate like a thick black velvet cloak.
The storm had returned, battering the high stone walls with wind and rain. Inside the east wing, the atmosphere was quiet, but under the surface, tension hummed like a live wire.
Nora sat on a velvet sofa in Camila’s sitting room, folding a pile of soft cotton blankets. Camila was sitting nearby, happily sipping warm milk while listening to an old vinyl record playing soft opera music.
Nora looked out the window. Across the courtyard, the lights of the main estate were blazing. She knew Vincent was down in the lower war room with his lieutenants, planning their response to Carmine Gallow’s aggression at Pier 42.
A soft knock at the door broke the silence.
Nora stood up immediately, her hand instinctively going to the small silver pocket knife Vincent had forced her to carry earlier that day.
"Who is it?" she called out.
"It's Paulie, Miss Hayes," came the familiar voice.
Nora unlocked the door and pulled it open. Paulie stood in the hallway, looking weary. His suit jacket was damp, and there was a dark shadow of exhaustion under his eyes.
"Is Vincent back?" Nora asked.
"The Don is still in meeting with the capos," Paulie said quietly, stepping into the foyer. He lowered his voice. "I brought you some dinner from the main kitchen. Thought you might be hungry."
He handed her a tray with cooked pasta and fresh bread.
"Thank you, Paulie," Nora said, setting the tray on a side table. She looked at him closely. "You look worried."
Paulie sighed, glancing back toward the long, dark corridor. "Carmine Gallow is getting desperate. He knows he can't win an open war against Vincent on New York soil. Which means he’s going to play dirty."
"Dirty how?"
"He's buying people," Paulie murmured, his jaw tightening. "We have a leak, Nora. Someone inside the estate has been feeding information to Chicago. They knew about the pier schedule today. They knew Vincent was going to be there."
Nora’s stomach dropped. "A mole inside this house?"
"Yes," Paulie said grimly. "Vincent is turning the estate upside down to find them. Until we do, trust no one. Not the guards, not the catering staff, no one."
Nora nodded slowly. "I understand."
After Paulie left, locking the door behind him, Nora couldn't sit still. The thought of a traitor wandering through the halls of the estate—putting Camila and Vincent in danger—made her stomach churn.
Camila finished her milk and yawned, her eyes drooping. Nora helped the older woman into bed, tucking her in gently.
"Is Thomas coming home tonight, little bird?" Camila asked softly, her voice weak.
Nora felt a pang of sorrow in her chest. She stroked Camila’s hair. "Thomas is working late tonight, Camila. But he loves you very much. Rest now."
Camila smiled, closed her eyes, and within minutes, her breathing turned heavy and smooth.
Nora stood by the bed for a moment before walking out to the suite's private balcony corridor. The balcony overlooked the grand interior courtyard of the estate. The rain was drumming rhythmically against the glass dome skylight above.
As she looked down into the dimly lit lower courtyard, she noticed a shadow moving stealthily along the perimeter wall near the servant entrance.
Nora froze.
The figure was dressed in a dark slicker, carrying a small electronic device. They stopped near the junction box that controlled the estate’s secondary security cameras and security grid.
Nora’s heart began to hammer against her ribs.
The mole.
She knew she should run to the phone and call Paulie or Vincent. But the phone line in the east wing was routed through that exact security box. If the traitor cut the wire, the east wing would be isolated.
Nora grabbed a heavy iron fireplace poker from beside the hearth. She slipped off her shoes, her bare feet silent on the cold marble floor, and eased open the side door leading to the courtyard maintenance stairs.
The air in the stairwell was freezing and smelled of damp plaster. Nora descended step by step, her grip tight on the iron poker, her pulse pounding in her ears.
When she reached the lower landing, she peeked around the corner.
The figure was crouched over the open circuit box, snipping small wires with wire cutters. The faint light from a flashlight illuminated the side of the person's face.
Nora gasped silently.
It wasn't a guard. It was Maria, one of the head kitchen staff—a woman who had worked for the Russo family for over five years.
"Maria?" Nora whispered in disbelief.
Maria spun around, her flashlight beam hitting Nora directly in the eyes. Her face paled, then hardened into a mask of cruel desperation.
"You should have stayed upstairs, little girl," Maria spat, pulling a small silver pistol from her apron pocket.
Nora didn't hesitate.
Years of surviving in the rougher corners of Queens had taught her that when a gun is pointed at you, you don't negotiate. You move.
Nora swung the heavy iron poker with all her strength, smashing it against Maria’s wrist just as the gun went off.
BANG!
The deafening shot shattered the quiet of the courtyard, the bullet ricocheting off the marble wall with a sharp spark. The pistol flew from Maria’s hand, clattering across the floor.
Maria shrieked in pain, but she lunged at Nora, tackling her to the ground.
The two women tumbled onto the wet floor of the courtyard. Maria was heavier, using her weight to pin Nora down, her hands wrapping around Nora’s throat, cutting off her air.
Nora gagged, her fingers clawing at Maria’s face and arms. Darkness began to edge into her vision. The rain hit her face, cold and stinging.
I can't die here, Nora thought fiercely. Camila is alone. Vincent is in danger.
Driven by a surge of pure adrenaline, Nora reached out blindly, her fingers touching the heavy iron poker lying on the ground beside them. She grabbed it and swung it upward with every ounce of strength she had left, striking Maria on the side of the temple.
Maria gasped, her grip loosening as she slumped sideways onto the wet tile, unconscious.
Nora scrambled backward, gasping for air, her hand clutching her bruised throat. Coughing violently, she dragged herself toward the dropped pistol and secured it.
Footsteps roared down the hallway.
Heavy iron doors slammed open, and a dozen armed men flooded the courtyard, weapons drawn.
Leading them was Vincent.
When Vincent saw Nora lying on the floor, soaked in rain, holding a gun next to the unconscious traitor, his face turned deathly pale.
"Nora!"
Vincent dropped to his knees beside her, gathering her into his arms, pulling her tightly against his chest. His hands were trembling—a sight none of his men had ever witnessed in his entire life.
"Nora... look at me. Are you hit?" Vincent demanded, his voice cracking with intense emotion as his eyes swept over her body.
"I'm... I'm fine," Nora wheezed, resting her forehead against his wet shoulder, her body shaking from the adrenaline crash. "It was Maria... she was cutting the security grid..."
Vincent looked at the severed wires, then down at Maria’s prone form. A look of murderous rage crossed his face, but when he turned his gaze back to Nora, his expression softened into pure tenderness.
May you like
He lifted her easily into his arms, carrying her like she weighed nothing, holding her close to his heart.
"Get Paulie," Vincent growled to his men as he walked back toward the warm interior of the house. "Clear the room. And lock down the city. We end this tonight."
