Chapter 3 - THE GATES OF IRON
Within ten minutes, the entire Conti estate was transformed from a luxurious country retreat into an armed fortress.
Heavy iron gates at the end of the two-mile private drive swung shut with a resounding clang, sealing off the outside world. Armed guards in tactical gear took up positions along the perimeter wall, their automatic rifles catching the afternoon sun. Inside the grand hall, thirty-two domestic employees—cooks, footmen, gardeners, and maids—had been rounded up by Dom’s enforcers and forced to stand in a rigid, terrified semicircle around the marble fountain.
Greta Halsey stood at the front of the group, her face a mask of furious indignation, though a faint sheen of sweat glistened on her upper lip.
"This is an outrage!" Greta snapped, stepping forward as Alessandro entered the hall, followed closely by Nora and Mia. "Mr. Conti, keeping us all locked up like criminals over the hysterical rambling of a dismissed maid and a toddler is completely unacceptable! I have thirty years of unblemished service—"
"Shut your mouth, Greta," Alessandro said without breaking his stride. He walked straight to the high-backed leather chair at the head of the hall and sat down, resting his elbows on the carved armrests.
Nora stood near the grand staircase, still holding Mia. The child had fallen silent, sensing the crushing weight of the tension in the room. The other servants wouldn't even look in Nora’s direction; they stared fixedly at the floor, terrified that drawing the Don’s attention might mean sharing whatever fate awaited Greta.
"You claim the maid stole the clock," Alessandro said, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling. "You claim the evidence was found in her locker."
"It was!" Greta insisted, her voice trembling slightly despite her best efforts to sound outraged. "In locker number fourteen! Ask anyone! The girl has been desperate for money ever since her husband abandoned her—"
"My husband is dead," Nora interrupted, her voice clear and steady for the first time. "He died in a construction accident before Mia was born. I’ve never asked this family for a single cent beyond my weekly wages."
"Lies!" Greta shrieked, taking a step forward before Dom’s heavy hand clamped down on her shoulder like a hydraulic press, forcing her back into place.
"We don't need testimony," Alessandro said coldly. "We have technology."
From the arched doorway leading to the basement archives, Dom emerged carrying a heavy black laptop. He walked directly to Alessandro and placed it on the mahogany side table, plugging in a portable drive.
"The east wing service corridor camera, sector four," Dom said, his voice flat and clinical. "Timestamp: yesterday afternoon at 3:14 PM."
The screen flickered to life. The high-definition footage was so crisp it looked like a live window. The camera angle overlooked the row of staff lockers in the basement changing room.
Every eye in the room turned toward the screen.
Greta’s color drained instantly. The haughty defiance in her eyes shattered into pure, unadulterated panic. She took a staggering step backward, her knees buckling slightly.
On the screen, the door of the locker room opened. Greta Halsey walked in, looking around cautiously to ensure the hallway was empty. She carried a small red leather case. She walked directly up to locker number fourteen—Nora’s locker—inserted a master key from her apron pocket, opened the door, and shoved the velvet pouch containing the jeweled clock deep into the corner behind a spare pair of work boots.
She even paused to straighten Nora’s spare apron before locking it back up and walking out with a smug, self-satisfied smirk.
The silence in the grand hall was absolute. You could hear the faint gurgle of the marble fountain and the distant howling of the wind outside.
Alessandro did not shout. He did not slam his fist on the table. He simply leaned back, steepled his long fingers together, and stared at Greta with eyes that looked like frozen lakes.
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"Greta," Alessandro said softly. "Would you care to explain why you were visiting Miss Vance’s locker with a master key?"
Greta opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Her lips trembled, and she clutched at her throat as if the collar of her uniform had suddenly become a noose.
