Chapter 3 - Shadows in the Service Wing
The service wing of the Moretti mansion was designed to be invisible to guests. Behind the white-paneled walls and velvet drapes lay a network of narrow corridors, storage rooms, and dumbwaiters used by the domestic staff to keep the main house running without disturbing the elite. Tonight, however, these hidden hallways felt less like a utility space and more like a slaughterhouse.
Alessandro stood up slowly, rising to his full height of six-two. He looked at Luca, who had now reached the edge of the ballroom floor, stopping ten paces away. The smile on Luca’s face was thin, almost apologetic.
"Everything alright, boss?" Luca asked, his voice carrying the warm, familiar cadence of a man who had taken a bullet for his brother in arms. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Not a ghost, Luca," Alessandro said, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous register that made the nearest guests step back nervously. "Just an old friend who forgot how he got his scar."
Luca’s smile vanished instantly. The warmth in his eyes evaporated, replaced by the cold, tactical calculation of a seasoned killer. He didn't blink. His right hand dipped further into his jacket pocket, the metallic click of a safety catch being switched off echoing softly against the plaster walls.
"You always were too smart for your own good, Alessandro," Luca said quietly, his posture shifting into a classic combat stance. "You think you built this empire alone? Every shipment, every route, every bribe—I managed the logistics while you played the king. You became soft. You let a woman from New Jersey twist you around her finger with a pretty smile."
"And you let her twist you around hers," Alessandro replied, his hand resting casually inside his jacket, his fingers wrapping around the checkered grip of his custom SIG Sauer. "Was it the money, Luca? Or were you just tired of standing behind me?"
"It was the future," Luca spat, taking a step forward. "The Moretti name is dying, Alessandro. The old ways don't work anymore. The families in Chicago and Miami are moving toward syndicates, corporations, clean paper. You wanted to keep running things like a twentieth-century street gang. Vivian understands the modern world. And once you're dead from a tragic heart attack on your engagement night, the transition will be seamless."
Before Luca could clear his holster, Alessandro moved with terrifying speed.
He didn't draw his gun. Instead, he kicked a heavy bronze planter filled with white lilies directly into Luca’s path. The massive urn shattered against the marble floor, spilling wet earth and heavy ceramic shards across the polished surface. Luca stumbled forward, his foot catching on the rim of the broken pot, throwing his aim off by a fraction of a second.
That fraction was all Alessandro needed.
He closed the distance in two strides, driving his fist upward into Luca’s jaw with a sickening crunch of bone. Luca staggered back against the mahogany wall, his gun clattering across the floor and sliding under the velvet drapes.
Before Luca could recover, Alessandro grabbed him by the lapels of his expensive tuxedo, slamming him against the wall so hard the plaster cracked.
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"Where is Rosa Delgado?" Alessandro demanded, his face inches from Luca’s, his gray-blue eyes burning with suppressed fury.
Luca spat a mouthful of blood onto the pristine white floor, laughing weakly. "You're too late, boss. Vivian already cleared the service wing. By the time you find her, your little maid and her deaf brat will be sleeping at the bottom of the Long Island Sound—just like her husband."
