Chapter 3 - The Shadow over Long Island
The atmosphere in the Moretti mansion shifted overnight.
Elena was no longer permitted to clean the long corridors or carry heavy trays. Before the sun rose the next morning, Aleandro had summoned Mrs. Gable, the head housekeeper, and ordered her to move Elena and Mia out of the small quarters near the kitchen and into the plush guest suite on the second floor—a suite with silk drapes, a private balcony, and an adjoining playroom for Mia.
“I don’t understand this, Mr. Moretti,” Elena protested, standing in the center of the lavish bedroom as two guards unloaded fresh trunks of high-end clothing that Aleandro’s tailors had delivered an hour ago. “I don’t want special treatment. I just want to do my job and keep Mia safe.”
Aleandro stood near the French doors, looking out over the misty grounds. He wore a crisp dark suit, his tie loosened at the collar.
“You don’t have a job here anymore, Elena,” he said without turning around. “You are my guest. And more importantly, you are my responsibility. My men intercepted an encrypted radio transmission from the Falcone territory in Queens last night. They know a survivor of the Rossi bloodline is alive in Long Island.”
Elena felt a cold chill run down her spine. She pulled Mia closer to her side. “How could they know?”
Aleandro turned to face her, his expression grim. “Three weeks ago, you applied for a replacement birth certificate using your mother’s original papers so you could register Mia for preschool. The county clerk in Nassau is on the Falcone payroll. It took them time to trace the paperwork, but they connected the dots yesterday.”
He walked toward her, his heavy footsteps silent on the thick Persian rug. “Don Victor Falcone is eighty years old, but he is paranoid. He believes that as long as a single Rossi walks the earth, his control over the docks is illegitimate. He will send men to eliminate you and Mia.”
“Then let us leave!” Elena cried out, tears of desperation welling in her eyes. “We’ll catch a bus! We’ll go to California, to Canada! We’ll change our names again!”
Aleandro grabbed her by the shoulders, his grip firm but gentle. “You won't make it to the highway, Elena. Falcone’s hitmen own the turnpikes. The moment you step outside my gates without an escort, you’re dead.”
He looked into her hazel eyes, searching them for a long moment. “You stay here. Within these walls, you are safe. No one enters this estate without my permission, and no one leaves without my protection.”
Mia trotted over, clutching a soft stuffed bear that had been left on the velvet bed. She tugged at Aleandro’s trousers. “Tall man, why is Mommy crying?”
Aleandro looked down at the child. Slowly, he dropped to one knee again, taking Mia’s tiny hand in his broad palm.
“Your mommy is scared, little one,” Aleandro said softly, staring up at Elena. “But I promise you... no one is going to hurt her. Not while I’m breathing.”
Mia smiled, reaching out with her sticky little hand to stroke Aleandro’s cheek, right over his faint scar. “Okay. I like you now.”
May you like
Aleandro let out a short, quiet laugh—a sound so rare that even the guard posted outside the open door snapped his head around in total shock.
For the first time in ten years, the ruthless boss of Long Island felt something crack open inside his chest.
