Chapter 6 - The Return to the Hearth
The heavy oak front door of the Moretti brownstone swung open with a soft, well-oiled click.
Inside, the house was warm, smelling faintly of brewed espresso, old leather, and the lingering scent of lavender soap. It was a sanctuary carved out of the middle of Manhattan, hidden behind reinforced security gates, bulletproof glass, and a loyal private security detail that guarded the perimeter like watchdogs.
Dante stepped into the grand foyer, shrugging off his heavy, rain-soaked trench coat and handing it automatically to Marta, the elderly housekeeper who had practically raised him and his siblings.
“Is she asleep?” Dante asked quietly, his voice losing the razor-sharp edge it had carried in the warehouse.
Marta pressed her frail hands together, her eyes shining with unshed tears as she looked up at the young patriarch. “Dr. Vance gave her a mild sedative an hour ago, signore. She’s resting in her room on the second floor. Her wrists are bandaged. She’s safe now.”
“Thank you, Marta. Get some rest yourself.”
“God bless you, Dante,” Marta whispered, taking his damp coat and retreating quietly down the hall toward the kitchens.
Dante walked up the grand mahogany staircase, each step completely silent despite his heavy boots. He moved down the dimly lit second-floor hallway until he reached the heavy oak door of Elena’s bedroom. The door was cracked open an inch, casting a warm, amber sliver of light across the dark Persian runner on the floor.
He pushed the door open just enough to look inside.
Elena lay propped up against a mountain of white pillows under a heavy cashmere quilt. Her face was pale, the dark bruises near her temples stark against her skin, and her freshly bandaged wrists rested limply outside the blanket. Her breathing was slow, deep, and steady—the rhythm of someone finally letting go of an unimaginable nightmare.
Sitting in a wooden rocking chair right beside her bed was Nico. The hardened syndicate captain, a man who had survived prison riots, mob wars, and assassination attempts without blinking, was gently holding the edge of Elena’s blanket, smoothing it down with rough, calloused fingers.
Hearing the soft shift of the floorboards, Nico glanced up. He slowly stood up, stepping quietly out into the hallway and pulling the bedroom door half-closed behind him.
“How is she?” Dante asked, leaning his shoulder against the hallway wall.
“Out cold,” Nico murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. “The doctor said she’ll have the physical scars for a while, but her mind... she’s resilient, boss. She’s a Moretti. She’ll bounce back. Though I think she’s going to need about a hundred cups of your midnight espresso to ever feel normal again.”
A faint, ghost of a smile touched Dante’s lips. “Make sure the security detail around the brownstone is tripled. I want twenty-four-hour patrols at every gate, roof access, and alley entrance. No one gets within three blocks of this house without my personal clearance.”
“Already handled,” Nico nodded. “The Vale operation is completely dismantled. The federal task force moved in on their primary warehouses in Newark twenty minutes ago. Marcus and Julian were picked up by street patrol units on the turnpike three miles outside Oak Ridge—our anonymous tip made sure the highway cops were waiting right where they stumbled out.”
“Good,” Dante said coldly. “Let the courts chew on them for the next fifty years.”
Nico hesitated for a moment, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “And Maya, boss? What do we do about...?”
“The family plot in upstate New York,” Dante said, his voice dropping into a quiet, reverent tone. “Tomorrow morning, at sunrise. We bring her home where she belongs. Beside our mother.”
Nico bowed his head respectfully. “I’ll handle the arrangements. Rest up, Dante. You’ve had a long night.”
May you like
Nico walked down the hall, leaving Dante standing alone in the quiet corridor outside his sister’s room.
Dante stared at the crack of warm light spilling from Elena’s room. For the first time in twenty-four hours, the iron armor around his chest felt just a fraction lighter.
