Chapter 7 - THE STORM AT THE GATES
Alessandro’s demeanor transformed in a fraction of a second. The relaxed, conversational gentleman vanished entirely, replaced by the apex predator who ruled the eastern underworld.
"Who?" Alessandro demanded, his voice dropping into a razor-sharp register.
"The Moretti syndicate," Dom replied, his hand resting on his pistol holster. "They think our recent expansion into the shipping docks left us vulnerable while the council is restructuring for the winter."
Nora stood up so fast her chair screeched against the hardwood floor. "Moretti? But aren't they—isn't there a truce?"
"Truces are only valid until someone thinks they can win a war," Alessandro said coldly. He turned to Dom. "Activate protocol omega. Seal the residential wing. Secure the panic shelter beneath the library."
"Sir, the shelter is for family only," Dom pointed out.
Alessandro didn't hesitate. He looked straight at Nora, his grey eyes burning with absolute, unyielding authority.
"Nora and Mia are staying right here with me. Get the security detail to the perimeter walls. Use whatever force is necessary."
"Understood," Dom nodded, turning on his heel and bolting from the room.
Nora’s heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. "Moretti? Men like that—they don't negotiate, do they?"
"No," Alessandro said calmly, walking over to a concealed panel behind the mahogany bookcase. He pressed a sequence of buttons, and the heavy wood slid open to reveal a reinforced steel armory containing tactical rifles, submachine guns, and rows of black ammunition magazines. "They come to destroy everything in their path. But they won't get past the gate."
"And Mia?" Nora whispered, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to be strong. "If they breach the house—"
Alessandro turned around, holding a sleek matte-black Sig Sauer pistol in one hand. He walked right up to her, closing the distance until she could feel the cool metal of his watch against her wrist. He reached out and gently cupped her chin, forcing her to look up into his eyes.
"Listen to me, Nora," he said, his voice vibrating with absolute conviction. "I built this empire with my bare hands. I survived three assassination attempts before I was thirty. Nobody—not Moretti, not an army of mercenaries—will ever touch your daughter while I draw breath in this house. Do you trust me?"
Looking into those fierce, unwavering grey eyes, Nora felt every ounce of her fear dissolve into something entirely different: total, unshakeable trust.
May you like
"I trust you," she whispered.
Before Alessandro could reply, the distant, dull thud of an explosion reverberated through the foundation of the mansion. The iron gate at the end of the private drive had just been blown open.
