Chapter 3 - The Sanctuary
The light inside the grand library of the Moretti estate was warm, amber, and serene.
It was a vast, two-story room lined with thousands of leather-bound books, floor-to-ceiling mahogany shelves, a roaring stone fireplace, and tall arched windows overlooking the manicured gardens below. For three years, this room had been locked, draped in white dust sheets, forgotten in the dark.
Today, the dust sheets were gone.
Sophia sat cross-legged on a plush velvet rug near the fireplace, wearing a bright red sweater and navy blue overalls. Spread out around her were dozens of colored pencils, sketchpads, and a plate half-filled with chocolate chip cookies that the estate’s head chef had baked specifically for her.
Sitting in a leather armchair beside her, holding a cup of hot black tea, was Vincent.
He was wearing a comfortable grey cashmere sweater, his dark hair slightly messy, looking completely at ease for the first time in nearly a decade. On the small table beside his elbow lay Isabella’s blue cloth journal, open to the page with the yellow butterfly.
"Look, Mr. Boss," Sophia said, holding up a drawing she had spent thirty minutes perfecting.
Vincent leaned down, examining the paper with genuine interest. It was a drawing of a giant dark castle surrounded by grey clouds, but at the front door stood a tall man in a black suit holding the hand of a little girl with wild curly hair. Above the castle, a bright yellow sun was poking through the clouds.
"That's very detailed," Vincent noted, a soft, rare smile touching his lips. "Who is the tall man?"
"That's you," Sophia grinned, pointing with her purple pencil. "You look serious, but I drew a tiny smile on your face so people know you aren't scary anymore."
Vincent let out a short, warm laugh. "And the little girl?"
"Me! I'm helping you guard the door so the bad clouds don't come back."
The library door opened gently, and Elina stepped in, holding a fresh tray of tea and fruit. She looked hesitant, still struggling to adjust to their sudden change in status. Over the past seventy-two hours, her life had been turned completely upside down. She and Sophia had been moved into the opulent second-floor suite, given full access to the house, and treated not as servants, but as honoured members of the household.
"Sophia, sweetie," Elina said softly, coming over to the rug. "Don't bother Mr. Moretti while he's reading."
"She isn't bothering me, Elina," Vincent said, setting his teacup down and looking up at her. "In fact, she’s the best company I've had in ten years."
Elina smiled shyly, setting the tray on the side table. "I still don't know how to thank you, Mr. Moretti. The suite... the clothes... the security guards taking Sophia to her new private school this morning... it’s too much."
"It's not enough," Vincent corrected her gently, his slate-blue eyes filled with sincere gratitude. "You gave me six years of quiet service in this house while I was a ghost. And your daughter saved my life. Nothing I give you will ever equal that."
Elina looked down at the floor, her cheeks flushing slightly. "We just wanted you to stop hurting."
"I know," Vincent whispered.
Suddenly, Marco DeLuca stepped quietly into the library, his face tense. He held a secure tablet in his hand and signaled silently to Vincent.
Vincent’s warm expression shifted back to his focused, professional calm. He stood up smoothly from his armchair. "Elina, stay here with Sophia. I need to take a call in the hallway."
Vincent walked out into the corridor, closing the heavy library door behind him.
"What is it, Marco?" Vincent asked, crossing his arms.
"The fallout from Terminal 4 is escalating, Boss," Marco reported, handing him the tablet. "Richard’s lieutenants in Miami aren't falling in line. His main backer in Florida, Don Lorenzo Vance of the Miami Syndicate, just landed at Teterboro Airport. He brought eight armed men with him."
Vincent stared at the flight records on the screen. Don Lorenzo Vance was an old-school mobster—a ruthless, vicious man who had controlled the Florida narcotics and shipping lines for thirty years. He had been Richard’s primary business partner.
"Lorenzo knows Richard is gone," Marco added grimly. "He’s claiming the Moretti syndicate owes his cartel forty million dollars for the lost weapons shipment that was seized at the Newark docks last week. He’s demanding a face-to-face meeting tonight at the estate."
Vincent’s eyes narrowed into sliver-sharp slits of steel. "He wants to test me. He thinks because I just purged my own brother, the house is divided and vulnerable."
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"Should I double the perimeter guards?" Marco asked.
"No," Vincent replied coldly. "Set the table for dinner. Let Lorenzo come into my house. Let him see what happens to men who think they can threaten the Moretti name."
