Chapter 5 - The Snake in the Garden
Two weeks passed like a surreal dream.
Life inside DeWitt Manor was a world removed from anything I had ever known. My days were spent with Mikey—helping him with his online tutoring, exploring the massive glass conservatories, and reading stories in the estate’s grand library. The little boy had transformed from a terrified, withdrawn shadow into a bright, joyful child whose laughter echoed through the high stone corridors.
And then there was Gabriel.
The man was an enigma. To the world outside the estate gates, he was an untouchable, ruthless king of the underworld who destroyed his enemies without mercy. But inside these walls, I watched him transform into a father who sat on the floor playing legos with his son, a man whose dark eyes followed my every move with a fierce, quiet devotion that made my blood run hot.
Every evening after Mikey went to sleep, Gabriel and I sat by the fire in the library. We talked for hours—not about syndicates or money, but about our pasts, our dreams, and the quiet things we had never shared with anyone else.
The tension between us grew so thick it was almost physical. Every brush of his fingers, every dark look across the dinner table, every low whisper in the hallway felt like a spark touching dry tinder.
On a rain-slicked Thursday evening, the illusion of safety shattered.
Gabriel had called an urgent meeting of his inner council at the estate. The city’s top syndicate lieutenants, business partners, and family elders arrived in a convoy of dark sedans to discuss the ongoing war with the Moretti family.
Gabriel insisted that I stay upstairs in the private wing with Mikey, guarded by Marco and four armed enforcers.
At eight o'clock, while Mikey was busy coloring in his room, I stepped out into the second-floor gallery to ask Marco for a pitcher of iced tea.
The gallery overlooked the grand foyer below. Through the frosted glass doors of the formal boardroom, I could hear the muffled, heated voices of the council meeting.
As I stood by the marble railing, I noticed a figure slipping out of the boardroom side door.
It was Victor DeWitt—Gabriel’s older cousin and senior advisor. A sharp-faced man with cold blue eyes and a permanent, arrogant smirk, Victor had always looked at me with open condescension whenever we passed in the hallways.
Victor walked quickly down the quiet west corridor toward Gabriel’s private study—a room that was strictly off-limits to everyone except Gabriel himself.
My diner-waitress instincts, polished by years of spotting shady customers trying to skip out on bills or steal from the register, immediately flared up.
I kept my footsteps silent against the thick Persian rugs as I followed him down the corridor.
The study door was slightly ajar. I pressed my back against the wood frame and peeked through the gap.
Victor was leaning over Gabriel’s mahogany desk, holding a small silver encrypted flash drive. He was plugging it into Gabriel’s secure terminal, his hands moving rapidly as a progress bar flashed red on the screen: DOWNLOADING ASSET DISPOSITION & SECURITY SCHEMATICS.
My blood ran cold. He was stealing the security layouts of the estate—the exact blueprints the Morettis would need to launch another strike.
Victor pulled out his encrypted satellite phone and pressed it to his ear.
“It’s done,” Victor whispered into the receiver, his tone laced with venomous greed. “I’ve got the full defense grid layout. Gabriel is distracted by his council meeting... and by that little diner whore he brought into the house. Send the strike team at midnight. Make sure Gabriel doesn't survive the night, and kill the boy too. I want total control of the family assets by sunrise.”
Horror seized my throat.
I backed away slowly, my sneakers silent on the carpet. But as I turned to sprint back toward the gallery, my elbow caught a antique porcelain vase sitting on a marble pedestal.
CRASH!
The vase shattered into a hundred pieces across the floor.
Inside the study, Victor’s phone call instantly cut off.
“Who’s there?!” Victor barked.
I didn't wait. I spun on my heel and sprinted down the hallway as fast as my legs could carry me.
Behind me, I heard heavy, rapid footsteps giving chase.
“Stop right there, you little bitch!” Victor snarled, drawing a silenced pistol from his jacket holster.
I rounded the corner into the gallery gallery, screaming at the top of my lungs. “MARCO! GABRIEL!”
A suppressed gunshot coughed behind me. Pfft!
A bullet smashed into the marble pillar inches from my head, showering my face with stone dust.
I ducked, throwing myself over the gallery railing just as Marco and three guards burst into the hallway below, weapons drawn.
Down in the foyer, the doors of the boardroom flew open. Gabriel strode out into the hall, his face an apocalyptic storm of rage as he saw me ducking behind the gallery balustrade and Victor standing at the top of the stairs with a raised firearm.
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“VICTOR!” Gabriel’s voice boomed through the high ceiling like a thunderclap, terrifying in its absolute fury.
Victor realized his cover was blown. He pointed his gun directly down at Gabriel and pulled the trigger.
