Chapter 4 - A Line drawn in Blood
“You lied to me, Aleandro,” Jimmy sneered, his hand plunging into his coat and coming out with a silenced 9mm pistol. His two bodyguards instantly drew their submachine guns, aiming them straight up toward the balcony where Sophia was desperately shielding Emma with her own body.
“Drop the weapons,” Marco barked, drawing his own gun as six Moretti security guards materialized from the side doors, weapons raised and targeted directly at Jimmy’s team.
The room became a standoff of absolute death. One wrong breath would turn the grand hall into a slaughterhouse.
“She belongs to the Valenti family!” Jimmy spat, his eyes glued on Sophia. “Her husband stole six million dollars from us! That child’s blood pays the interest on the debt!”
Above them, Bruno’s growl deepened into an unnatural, terrifying roar. The dog’s dark fur stood up along his spine. His muscles coiled like steel springs.
Aleandro didn't draw a gun. He slowly walked right into the center of the crossfire, placing himself directly between Jimmy’s gun and the balcony above.
“You are in my house, Jimmy,” Aleandro said softly, his dark eyes glowing with a terrifying, ancient malice. “You are pointing a gun under my roof. At a child under my protection.”
“She’s not your family!” Jimmy shouted, his voice cracking with sudden nervousness as he realized he was completely surrounded. “You’re going to start a war with New York over a dead rat’s kid?!”
“She’s not my family,” Aleandro agreed calmly. He raised his eyes to the balcony, meeting Emma’s wide, terrified gaze. Then he looked at Bruno, who was practically vibrating with fury, waiting for a single command.
Aleandro looked back at Jimmy. “But the dog says she stays.”
“To hell with your dog!” Jimmy screamed, swinging his barrel toward Aleandro’s chest.
Aleandro moved with terrifying speed.
He grabbed Jimmy’s wrist, twisting it upward with enough force to snap the bone with a sickening CRACK. The gun discharged uselessly into the ceiling plaster. Before Jimmy could even scream, Aleandro slammed his elbow directly into the man’s nose, shattering it instantly.
At the exact same moment, Aleandro shouted a single word: “BRUNO! ATTACK!”
Above, the massive black beast didn't hesitate. Bruno launched himself over the six-foot mahogany balcony railing, dropping twenty feet through the air like a falling anvil.
He landed square on top of the first bodyguard, crushing the man into the marble floor with a brutal impact. Teeth flashed, leather tore, and the bodyguard’s submachine gun skittered across the floor as he shrieked in agony.
The second bodyguard tried to turn his weapon on the dog, but Marco fired two quick shots into the man’s shoulder, dropping him to his knees.
Within four seconds, the fight was over.
Jimmy Valenti lay on the floor, holding his broken wrist and bleeding profusely from his crushed nose, groaning in total shock. Bruno stood over him, his jaws dripping with foam, his dark head lowered just inches from Jimmy’s throat, waiting for the order to tear it out.
Sophia huddled on the balcony floor, her hands tightly covering Emma’s ears so the child wouldn't hear the chaos.
Aleandro stepped over the groaning bodyguard, standing above Jimmy Valenti. He reached down, grabbed Jimmy by his leather collar, and dragged him across the blood-stained marble toward the open front door, where the freezing snowstorm was howling.
“Tell your uncle that Chicago belongs to the Moretti family,” Aleandro whispered into Jimmy’s bleeding ear. “And tell him if he ever sends another man into my state to look for this child... I won't send his bodyguards back alive.”
Aleandro tossed Jimmy out into the snowbank like a bag of garbage. The two wounded guards dragged their boss into the idling SUV and sped away into the blinding white storm, their taillights disappearing into the dark.
Aleandro slammed the heavy iron doors shut and threw the deadbolts.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Aleandro turned around. Bruno was standing near the fireplace, breathing heavily, his yellow eyes fixed on his master.
Above, on the balcony, Sophia was sobbing silently, clutching Emma to her chest.
May you like
Aleandro looked up at her, his dark coat flecked with blood. His expression was no longer cold; it was forged in pure iron.
“Pack your things from the servants' quarters,” Aleandro commanded, his voice echoing through the quiet hall. “You and your daughter are moving to the master wing upstairs. Starting tonight... nobody touches either of you.”
