Chapter 5 - The Master's Wrath
The silence in the grand dining hall turned instantly electric, charged with a terrifying, suffocating intensity. Aleandro’s face drained of all color, his sharp jaw clenching so hard muscles ticked along his cheek. His mind raced back through the fog of grief, back to the rainy Tuesday morning in Boston, back to the quiet hospital room, the whispered condolences of the oncology chief, and the agonizing decision to let go. But looking at the crescent mark on the back of the little girl's neck, the carefully constructed reality of his life began to fracture into a million jagged pieces.
"What is your name?" Aleandro demanded, his voice dropping into an arctic, lethal register that made the air in the room feel brittle. He knelt down slowly, ignoring the immaculate creases of his trousers as they touched the marble, bringing his face level with hers.
"Mia," the little girl whispered, finally sensing the sudden shift in the atmosphere, her lower lip trembling just a fraction. "Mia Rossi."
"Rossi," Aleandro repeated the name like a curse, his dark eyes blazing with a mixture of profound shock and dark, boiling suspicion. He reached out with a large, trembling hand, his fingers hovering just an inch above her shoulder, desperate to touch the mark again to prove he wasn't losing his mind. "Where did you get that? Who gave you that name?"
Before Mia could answer, the heavy oak doors of the dining hall banged open with a deafening crash.
"Mia!"
Elena rushed into the room, her face white as a sheet, her apron stained with dishwater and soap. She had discovered the west wing door open, followed the faint echoes of childish chatter, and now stood paralyzed at the sight of the most feared man in New York kneeling dangerously close to her daughter. Without thinking, driven by pure maternal terror, Elena threw herself across the marble floor, dropping to her knees between Aleandro and the child, pulling Mia tightly against her chest.
"I am so sorry, Mr. Moretti! Please—she didn't mean to—she wandered off, I swear on my life, I turned my back for one second—please don't hurt her!" Elena sobbed, shielding Mia with her own body, pressing her face into her daughter's curly hair.
Aleandro rose slowly to his full height. He looked down at the trembling housekeeper, his expression dark, unreadable, and terrifyingly still. The grief that had paralyzed him for years was instantly replaced by a razor-sharp, calculating fury.
"Marco!" Aleandro's voice thundered through the rafters, echoing down the stone corridors like a gunshot.
Within three seconds, Marco Bellini burst through the doorway, hand instantly resting on the butt of his shoulder holster, his eyes darting across the scene ready for an assassination attempt. He stopped dead, blinking in confusion at the sight of the housekeeper and the child.
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"Boss?" Marco breathed.
Aleandro looked down at Elena, his voice cold enough to freeze blood. "Lock down the estate. Nobody leaves. And bring me every medical file, employment record, and background check associated with Elena Rossi within five minutes. If there is a single lie in her file... God help everyone in this house."
