Chapter 5 - The Council of Wolves
The interior of the Beacon Hill mansion was a breathtaking blend of old-world Italian aristocracy and modern high-security fortress. Vaulted ceilings, dark mahogany wood panels, priceless oil paintings, and plush Persian rugs lined the grand hallways, but every doorway was fitted with biometric scanners, and the faint, rhythmic hum of encrypted communication servers vibrated through the floorboards.
Salvatore led us into a sprawling, fire-lit study lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. A massive oak desk sat at the center, surrounded by leather armchairs.
"Settle her in the East Wing master suite," Dante instructed Salvatore, gesturing toward me while gently lifting the sleeping Leo from my arms with practiced ease. The baby stirred, let out a soft murmur, and immediately snugged against Dante’s broad chest, completely at peace. "And have Dr. Elena come by to check her over. I want a full medical clearance."
"I don't need a doctor," I protested, rubbing my aching shoulders. "I just need sleep."
"You'll get both, piccola," Dante said, using a term of endearment that sounded foreign yet disturbingly natural on his lips. "Right now, I have a war council waiting in the tactical room downstairs. Salvatore will show you to your quarters. Lock the door behind you. Do not open it for anyone except me or Salvatore."
Before I could argue about being ordered around like a prisoner, Dante turned on his heel and walked swiftly toward a concealed panel behind the mahogany bookshelf, which slid open silently to reveal a private elevator descending into the bowels of the estate.
Salvatore cleared his throat politely, snapping me back to reality. "Right this way, Miss Alina."
The East Wing suite was larger than my entire Chicago apartment. A king-sized bed draped in crisp white linens sat beneath a massive crystal chandelier, and floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic, moonlit view of the dark Boston Harbor. A private marble bathroom stocked with luxury amenities and a walk-in closet filled with designer clothes in my size—as if they had anticipated my arrival for years—completed the room.
"Your clothes and personal effects from your Southie apartment will be retrieved and sanitized by morning," Salvatore said from the doorway. "If you need anything—food, water, security details—use the console by the bed. Goodnight, Miss Alina."
The heavy oak door clicked shut, sealing me inside.
I walked over to the window, pressing my palms against the cold glass, staring out at the distant lights of the city. How had my life spiraled out of control so fast? Twenty-four hours ago, I was worried about a fifty-dollar shortfall on my electric bill. Now, I was a high-value asset in an active mafia war.
An hour passed in a blur of restless pacing. I couldn't sleep. The adrenaline was still pumping through my veins like liquid fire.
Unable to stay cooped up any longer, I cracked the heavy oak door open. The hallway was empty, dimly lit by wall sconces. I decided to look for the kitchen to find a glass of water.
Stealthily, I crept down the carpeted corridor, navigating the labyrinthine halls of the East Wing until I reached the grand staircase overlooking the main foyer.
As I neared the head of the stairs, I heard muffled voices drifting up from the lower level. The double doors to Dante’s private study were cracked open just an inch.
"...Vincent Moretti is moving faster than anticipated," a harsh, gravelly voice was saying. "He’s got eyes on the docks, Rosselli. If he figures out the girl is back in your custody, he’ll hit us before we can consolidate our shipping routes."
I froze, flattening my back against the dark mahogany paneling of the hallway.
"Let him try," Dante’s voice replied, cold, hard, and laced with a terrifying lethality. "Moretti thinks he’s playing the same game his grandfather played twenty-four years ago. He thinks stealing my family is his ticket to ruling Boston."
"Boss, what are our orders?" another man asked.
"Burn his supply lines in East Boston," Dante commanded softly, yet every word carried the weight of an execution order. "Hit his financial accounts in the Cayman offshore shell companies. And double the perimeter detail around the estate. No one gets in. No one touches Alina. Understand?"
"Clear, Boss. And the girl? Can we trust that she won't run? She’s lived twenty-four years believing she was an ordinary civilian. Dropping her into our world—"
"She stays," Dante cut in, his voice dropping an octave, brooking zero argument. "She is my blood. She is Elena’s daughter. Anyone who looks at her sideways answers to me."
My heart hammered wildly against my ribs. He wasn't just keeping me as a political hostage or a bargaining chip. He was fiercely, violently claiming me as his own, determined to protect me with the full, merciless might of the Rosselli empire.
Suddenly, a heavy hand gripped my shoulder from behind.
I gasped, spinning around with a stifled shriek, ready to fight for my life.
May you like
Salvatore stood there, his expression impassive, though his grip on my arm was firm enough to steady me without causing pain.
"It’s dangerous to wander the halls unescorted at night, Miss Alina," Salvatore whispered, his tone polite yet laced with absolute warning. "Let me walk you back to your suite. The Boss wouldn't forgive me if anything happened to you while he was downstairs."
