Chapter 3 - The Siege of the Moretti Estate
The heavy oak doors of the study were bolted from the inside.
Outside, the mist had turned into a heavy, swirling fog that swallowed the courtyard lights, turning the expansive grounds of the Moretti estate into a ghostly labyrinth.
Claire sat in one of the plush leather armchairs near the fireplace, a steaming mug of tea held loosely between her trembling hands. Across from her, sitting behind the massive walnut desk, Dante Moretti stared into the middle distance, his fingers steepled beneath his chin.
Near the corner of the room, sitting on a hastily dragged-in stool, Lily was quietly coloring inside a brand-new Disney book Rocco had somehow procured within twenty minutes of the lockdown ending. She was using a bright red crayon to color a fire truck, entirely unbothered by the fact that the entire estate was currently operating under a military-grade state of emergency.
“She needs to sleep,” Dante said quietly, breaking the long silence.
“She won't,” Claire murmured, her eyes fixed on the rim of her mug. “Whenever she gets scared, she locks up inside. She’ll color for hours until her hands cramp.”
Dante shifted his gaze from the wall to the little girl with the red crayon. A faint, almost imperceptible softening touched the hard lines around his mouth.
“She’s tougher than she looks,” Dante observed.
“He was right there,” Claire whispered, her voice cracking as the reality of what had happened in the hallway finally caught up with her. “Marco... he was in the west gallery. He talked about a Boston contact. Dante, what is happening? What do they want?”
Dante leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. “They want the Moretti ledgers, Claire. For thirty years, my family kept records of every corrupt politician, every compromised federal judge, and every illegal shipping route along the eastern seaboard in an encrypted physical archive housed in the west gallery safe. When the digital age came, my grandfather refused to digitize it. He wanted leverage that couldn't be hacked.”
Claire stared at him, her mind spinning. “And Marco sold you out for it?”
“Marco was ambitious,” Dante said coldly. “He thought he could hand the archives over to the Vanguard syndicate in Boston, step into my shoes, and run the eastern seaboard himself. He just didn't count on a three-year-old girl noticing him hiding by my car at two in the morning.”
Claire looked over at Lily, who was busy adding extra wheels to her fire truck. A profound wave of protective terror washed over her. “If they want those archives, and they know we saw them... we aren't safe here. Even with your guards.”
“They aren't getting past the gates,” Dante said, every word like falling granite. “Every road leading to this estate is blocked by my men. The perimeter sensors are active, and the main vault requires a biometric override that only I possess. Marco’s accomplices are trapped inside a cage of their own making.”
Before Claire could answer, a sharp, metallic crash echoed from somewhere deep within the mansion.
It wasn't a normal sound. It was the distinct, unmistakable ring of shattered glass coming from the main foyer below.
Dante stood up instantly, his hand dropping to the holster beneath his arm.
“Stay here,” Dante commanded, his voice absolute. “Do not open this door for anyone except Rocco or myself.”
“Dante—”
“Stay here, Claire,” he repeated, his dark eyes locking onto hers with fierce intensity. Then he turned and strode out of the study, pulling the heavy oak door shut behind him with a solid click.
Claire stood up, walking over to lock the interior deadbolt. Her hands shook so badly she missed the keyhole on the first try.
Across the room, Lily looked up from her coloring book.
May you like
“Mommy?”
“Keep coloring, sweetheart,” Claire said, forcing a calm, trembling smile to her face as she rushed back to the sofa and pulled Lily close, listening to the heavy, ominous sounds echoing through the grand halls of the Moretti estate.
