Chapter 21 - The Illusion of Peace
The peace that followed their wedding was a beautiful, fragile illusion.
For six months, the city breathed a collective sigh of relief under the iron rule of the Moretti family.
Clara had transformed the estate from a fortified bunker back into a sprawling, elegant mansion.
She walked through the grand hallways not with a mop, but with a tablet holding the financial records of the entire East Coast.
Arthur watched her from the doorway of his study, swirling a glass of amber scotch.
He still walked with a slight limp when the weather turned cold, a lingering reminder of the Russian bullet.
But his eyes were sharper than ever, entirely focused on the woman who had dragged him out of the darkness.
“You are staring again, Mr. Moretti,” Clara said without looking up from her screen.
“I am admiring the view, Mrs. Moretti,” Arthur replied, his voice a low, gravelly hum.
He walked over and kissed the soft skin behind her ear, making her shiver.
But the romantic silence was abruptly shattered by the heavy footsteps of their new head of security, Marco.
Marco stopped in the doorway, his face pale and his hands clenched tight.
“Boss, a package just arrived at the front gate,” Marco said, his voice trembling slightly.
Arthur’s demeanor changed in a fraction of a second, the loving husband vanishing to reveal the ruthless king.
“I did not order anything,” Arthur stated coldly, setting his glass down on the mahogany desk.
“It is from New York,” Marco added, holding up a small, wooden humidor box.
Clara immediately set her tablet down, her pragmatic mind already calculating the threat.
Arthur took the box, his large hands inspecting the smooth mahogany for wires before popping the gold latch.
Inside the box, resting on a bed of velvet, was a silver pocket watch covered in dried blood.
Arthur stared at the watch, his jaw clenching so hard the muscles in his neck strained.
“That belongs to Don Salvatore,” Clara said, recognizing the antique from a gala they had attended months ago.
“Belonged,” Arthur corrected her, snapping the box shut with a violent crack.
Salvatore was Arthur’s oldest ally in New York, a man who had kept the Five Families from expanding south.
If Salvatore was dead, it meant the old Italian Commission had finally decided to make their move on Arthur’s territory.
“They are testing the water to see if I am still the monster they fear,” Arthur growled.
Clara stepped up beside him, her dark eyes flashing with the same lethal intelligence that had won the Russian war.
“Then we need to remind them that the water here is filled with blood,” Clara replied smoothly.
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Arthur looked at his wife, a dark, terrifying smile spreading across his face.
The honeymoon was officially over.
