Chapter 3 - The Safe House
The Moretti estate in Riverdale was built in 1928 by my grandfather—a fortress of thick granite, wrought-iron gates, and bulletproof glass hidden behind twenty-foot pine trees.
When my black SUV cleared the security checkpoint at the front gate, three armed guards in heavy winter parkas tipped their hats to us. The heavy iron gates slammed shut behind us with a resonant, metallic CLANG that echoed through the snow-covered grounds.
I carried Emma through the grand oak front doors into the warm foyer. A fire was roaring in the stone fireplace, casting deep orange light across the mahogany paneling.
My housekeeper, Mrs. Gable—a sharp-eyed Italian woman who had raised me after my mother passed—rushed down the curved staircase holding a warm wool blanket.
"Dio mio, Calder," Mrs. Gable gasped, looking at the tiny girl tucked under my arm. "Who is this little angel?"
"This is Emma," I said, setting the child down gently onto the plush rug near the fire. Mrs. Gable immediately dropped to her knees, wrapping the blanket around Emma’s shoulders and taking off her wet, snow-soaked boots. "She’s staying with us for a few days, Clara. Get her some dry clothes, clean her up, and have cook make whatever she wants."
"Right away, son," Mrs. Gable murmured, giving me a knowing, heavy look. She knew what it meant when I brought someone home under guard. It meant blood was coming.
I walked into my private study down the hall, pushing the heavy double doors shut. Marco followed me inside, closing the door behind him and standing by the desk.
I walked straight to the mahogany bar, poured two fingers of neat scotch into a crystal glass, and downed it in one smooth burn.
The landline phone on my desk rang sharply.
I picked it up. "Talk to me, Luca."
"I traced the sedan, Boss," Luca’s voice came through the receiver, backgrounded by the ambient hum of an idling engine and distant city traffic. "They drove straight to a meatpacking plant down on 14th Street. Off the books property owned by a Valenti front company."
"Did you see the mother?"
"Yeah," Luca replied, his tone growing grim. "Two heavies dragged her out of the trunk of a secondary car five minutes ago. She's breathing, but she's banged up, Calder. They dragged her inside through the loading dock."
I closed my eyes, picturing Emma’s pale face in the bakery, clutching those scattered coins on the counter. They still have my mommy.
"How many men at the plant?" I asked.
"I counted six on the perimeter. Probably another four or five inside with the manager. Dominic isn't there, but his underboss—that rat Jimmy 'The Hook' Varga—his Cadillac is parked in the bay."
Jimmy Varga. A sadist who handled Valenti's messier enforcement jobs. A man who enjoyed giving people reason to scream.
"Do not engage," I commanded. "Stay on the perimeter. Keep the engine cold. I'm coming down with the heavy team."
"Boss," Luca hesitated over the line. "If we breach a Valenti facility on 14th Street, the Commission is going to consider this an unsanctioned hit. Old man Commission Chairman Rossini will put a green light on our family."
"Rossini doesn't run my city," I said flatly, slamming the receiver back onto the brass cradle.
I turned to Marco.
"Get eight men from the warehouse. Heavy weapons, silent gear, non-attributable plates on the vans. We leave in ten minutes."
"Calder," Marco stepped forward, his eyes filled with genuine concern. "Is a cleaner woman worth burning down a ten-year truce with the Valenti family? The Commission—"
"The Commission can go to hell, Marco," I snapped, turning on him with a glare that made the seasoned soldier step back an inch. "A six-year-old child begged me for help in my own establishment. She handed me her mother's blood. If I let Dominic Valenti murder a woman for finding a box in a closet, what the hell am I running here? A mob, or a bunch of cowards in expensive suits?"
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Marco stared at me for three seconds. Then, slowly, a grim, brutal smile spread across his rugged face. He reached into his belt, checking the clip on his sidearm.
"Ten minutes, Boss," Marco said softly. "I'll get the vans."
