Chapter 5 - THE BLOODLINE REVEALED
The drive back to the Moretti estate was cloaked in a suffocating silence. Sophia sat in the back of the armored SUV, wrapped in one of Aleandro’s heavy wool coats, shivering despite the heat blasting from the vents. Aleandro sat beside her, a solid, immovable mountain of tailored wool and restrained violence. Outside, the rain had begun to fall, washing the neon lights of the city into blurred streaks across the bulletproof glass.
When the massive iron gates of the estate swung open, Sophia saw that the property had been transformed into a militarized zone. Black SUVs blocked every entrance. Men carrying automatic weapons patrolled the gardens in the torrential downpour. The illusion of the high-society billionaire was gone; this was the compound of a Mafia Don preparing for war.
"Where is she?" Sophia demanded the moment the vehicle stopped.
"In the safest room in this house," Aleandro replied, stepping out into the rain and holding the door for her. He guided her up the marble steps, his hand resting heavily, protectively on the small of her back. It was a touch that burned through the layers of her clothing, a terrifying reminder of the night they had created Emma.
Inside, the ballroom was cordoned off with yellow police tape, the shattered crystal and bloodstains still visible near the marble columns. Sophia tore her eyes away and practically ran up the grand staircase.
Mrs. Gable was standing outside the master suite, flanked by two heavily armed guards. She looked exhausted, but her eyes softened when she saw Sophia. "She's sleeping, ma'am," the housekeeper whispered, stepping aside.
Sophia pushed open the heavy oak doors. In the center of the cavernous bedroom, on a massive four-poster bed fit for a king, lay tiny Emma. She was curled into a tight ball, clutching her faded stuffed rabbit, looking impossibly small against the dark silk sheets.
Sophia fell to her knees beside the bed, burying her face in the mattress, her shoulders shaking with silent, wracking sobs. She had almost lost her. Valentina’s poison had been meant for her, and if it had worked, Emma would have been left entirely alone in this den of wolves.
She felt a heavy weight settle on the mattress beside her. Aleandro sat on the edge of the bed, his gaze fixed on the sleeping toddler. He reached out, his large, calloused fingers—hands that had beaten men to death, hands that signed billion-dollar deals—gently brushing a dark curl away from Emma’s forehead. His touch was lighter than a breath.
"She has my mother's nose," he murmured, his voice thick with an emotion Sophia had never heard from him before.
"She has your temper," Sophia whispered, wiping her tears. "And your stubbornness. She refused to learn how to tie her shoes the normal way. She had to invent her own method."
A ghost of a smile touched the corners of Aleandro’s mouth. Then, just as quickly, the hardness returned. He stood up, pacing toward the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the storm.
"The Rossi family will use Valentina's death as an act of war," Aleandro said, his voice returning to the icy cadence of a commander. "Valentina’s father is the Don of the Chicago outfit. He won't believe that his daughter poisoned herself attempting to assassinate a maid. He will claim I murdered her to break the alliance."
"Can't you show him the security footage?" Sophia asked, standing up and pulling the wool coat tighter around herself.
Aleandro let out a dark, bitter laugh. "In our world, truth is irrelevant. The footage can be doctored. The waiter can be bought. Rossi has wanted my ports for a decade. Valentina was just a pawn to get inside my house. Her trying to kill you was an unsanctioned move—she panicked when she realized my true heir was living under my roof. But her death gives Rossi the perfect excuse to launch a full-scale assault."
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He turned back to her, the shadows of the room carving harsh lines into his face. "You cannot run this time, Sophia. If you step outside these gates, you are dead. If Rossi finds out who Emma is, he will use her to destroy me."
Sophia lifted her chin, the fear in her chest hardening into the fierce, protective steel of a mother. "I'm not running, Aleandro. I stopped running the moment my daughter danced barefoot in your ballroom."
