Chapter 2 - The Red Light in the Dark
The shot echoed through the heavy wood panels of the study, followed immediately by the dull, wet thud of a body hitting the marble floor.
I didn't feel any pain.
I opened my eyes slowly through a veil of tears.
Marcus wasn't standing over me anymore. He was sprawled on his back near the shattered wineglass, a single bullet hole centered neatly between his collarbones. Blood was pooling onto the expensive Persian rug.
Standing near the desk, holding Alejandro’s heavy silver Revolver, was Leo. His arms were shaking so violently that the gun looked ready to slip from his sweat-slicked palms, but his eyes were wide with a mix of terror and sudden resolve.
"I... I signed up to earn a paycheck," Leo stammered, his breath coming in jagged pants as he dropped the gun onto the desk as if it had burned him. "I didn't sign up to kill kids. I didn't sign up to hurt a little girl."
Alejandro didn't waste a single second. Pushing past the residual weakness in his muscles, he pushed himself up, using the edge of the mahogany desk for balance. He walked over to me, his heavy leather shoes stepping over Marcus’s body without a second glance.
He dropped to one knee before me. Up close, Alejandro Moretti looked like a giant from my storybooks. He had sharp grey temples, a dark beard trimmed to perfection, and scars running along his jawline. But right now, his face was filled with something I had never seen on the guards upstairs: deep, profound reverence.
He picked up the empty plastic casing of my EpiPen from the floor.
"You gave me your last one?" Alejandro asked, his deep voice soft, almost tender, contrasting sharply with the violence that had just taken place.
I nodded, pulling my backpack tighter around my shoulders. "Mama said... it was my spare. She said if I couldn't breathe, I'd go to heaven. I didn't want you to go to heaven yet."
Alejandro let out a low, gravelly sound—halfway between a dry laugh and a choked sob. He reached out with one massive, calloused hand and gently patted my head, his fingers surprisingly gentle.
"What's your name, little one?"
"Emma," I whispered.
"Emma," Alejandro repeated, as if engraving the name onto his heart. "I owe you my life, Emma. And in my house, a debt to a Moretti is paid with the world."
Suddenly, loud footsteps echoed down the grand corridor outside. Shouted orders in Italian cut through the night air. The heavy double doors were thrown open, and six armed men in black suits burst into the room, lead by Alejandro’s chief enforcer, a scarred, burly man named Marco.
"Don Alejandro!" Marco shouted, his gun raised. He froze when he saw the scene: Marcus dead on the floor, Leo trembling near the desk, Alejandro on his knees beside a four-year-old girl holding a pink bunny. "What happened?! We heard gunfire!"
Alejandro stood up slowly, drawing himself to his full six-foot-four height. The terrifying aura of the King of Chicago returned in an instant.
"Marcus was a traitor," Alejandro said coldly, pointing at the corpse. "He poisoned my wine on behalf of the Valenti family. Leo shot him before he could execute this child."
Marco’s eyes went wide with shock. "Poison?! Boss, are you alright?!"
"I am alive," Alejandro declared, his voice echoing off the high ceilings, "because Emma, the daughter of our house maid, gave me the medicine meant for her own life. Marco, secure the perimeter. Nobody enters or leaves this mansion. And retrieve the hard drive from behind that bookshelf."
"Yes, Boss!" Marco barked, instantly delegating orders to his men.
Just then, a frantic, hysterical scream pierced the hallway.
"Emma! Emma!"
My mother, Clara, shoved her way through the armed guards at the doorway. Her hair was unkempt, her maid’s apron stained with bleach from the laundry room downstairs. When she saw the blood on the floor, the dead guard, and the armed enforcers, her face drained of all color.
"Mama!" I cried, running toward her.
Clara dropped to her knees, scooping me up into her arms and holding me so tightly I could barely breathe. She buried her face in my hair, weeping hysterically. "Oh God, Emma! I told you to stay in the basement! I told you not to come up!"
She looked up, seeing Don Alejandro standing over us. Clara immediately fell to her knees, pulling me behind her back, her entire body shaking with fear.
"Please, Don Moretti!" Clara begged, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. "Please don't hurt her! She’s only four! She doesn't understand! She didn't mean to intrude!"
Alejandro stared down at my mother, his eyes softening instantly. He walked over, knelt down on the hard marble, and did something that made every single guard in the room gasp in utter disbelief.
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Don Alejandro Moretti—the man who bowed to no one—bowed his head before my mother.
"Clara," Alejandro said softly. "Your daughter did not intrude. She saved my life. And as long as I draw breath, neither you nor Emma will ever bow, beg, or fear anyone in this city again."
