Chapter 4 - The Escalation
The peace inside the Greenwich estate was shattered forty-eight hours later.
It was a Thursday evening, around 6:30 PM. The rain had intensified into a howling autumn storm that lashed against the tall windows of the mansion. Most of the domestic staff had been dismissed for the night, leaving only Elena, who was finishing deep-cleaning the formal dining room chandeliers, and a small security detail stationed at the gates.
Mia was sitting in the corner of the dining room on a soft velvet rug, coloring in a picture book with blue crayons.
Suddenly, the heavy double doors of the mansion’s main foyer slammed open with a loud, metallic BANG.
Elena gasped, dropping her polishing cloth as she ran to the foyer balcony.
Below, Vance and four armed security guards were retreating into the hall, their weapons drawn. Standing in the center of the grand entryway was Salvatore Valenti—a broad, barrel-chested man in his fifties wearing a leather trench coat, accompanied by eight heavily armed enforcers holding tactical submachine guns.
Valenti had bypasses the outer gates using a compromised security code provided by a traitor inside the Moretti ranks.
"MORETTI!" Valenti’s voice boomed through the high-ceilinged foyer, echoing like thunder. "Get down here, you arrogant bastard!"
Adrian emerged from his subterranean study, stepping calmly onto the marble floor of the foyer. He was unbuttoning his sleeves, completely unbothered by the eight automatic weapons pointed directly at his chest.
"You’re dripping mud on my rug, Salvatore," Adrian said smoothly, his voice colder than the storm outside.
"Screw your rug!" Valenti roared, stepping forward. "Your lawyer locked my bank accounts in Panama this afternoon! My shipping lines are frozen! You think you can play games with me?"
"I told you forty-eight hours ago," Adrian replied, taking a step down the grand staircase. "You tear up Giancarlo's fake ledger, or you go broke. You chose broke."
Valenti’s face turned purple with rage. He raised his heavy chrome revolver, pointing it directly at Adrian’s head. "I didn't come here to negotiate, Moretti. I came to take what's mine. You sign over the Jersey docks right now, or I turn this house into a graveyard!"
Upstairs on the balcony, Elena pressed her back against the wall, her hand clamped over her mouth to suppress a scream. Her knees were shaking so violently she could barely stand.
Then she looked down.
Mia was no longer beside her.
Elena’s blood turned to liquid ice. "Mia..." she whimpered under her breath.
She looked over the gilded balcony railing.
Mia had wandered down the side service staircase and was now walking straight across the polished marble floor of the foyer—holding her blue crayon, completely oblivious to the nine armed men ready to start a bloodbath.
She stopped right beside Valenti’s mud-stained leather boot.
May you like
Mia looked at the giant man, then down at his muddy boots, then at her blue crayon.
"You're making a mess," Mia said loudly.
