Chapter 3 - The Shadow of Victor
The estate grounds were rapidly devolving into a warzone.
Distantly, the high-pitched wail of perimeter alarms shrieked into the freezing night air. Gunfire crackled across the east gardens—the loyalists fighting off the mercenary unit Victor Vance had quietly infiltrated into the compound over the past six months.
"Boss!" Marco yelled, checking his tactical radio. "Victor’s men have locked down the main gate and the helicopter pad! They’re moving toward the west wing! We have less than four minutes before they surround this corridor!"
Alessandro looked at Sophia, whose face was pale with terror, then down at Emma.
The little girl was looking up at the ceiling as plaster dust rained down like winter snow. She didn't understand the syndicate. She didn't understand betrayal, fire, or bloodlines. She only knew that the giant black dog beside her was keeping her safe.
"Get up," Alessandro commanded Sophia, dropping his empty magazine and slapping a fresh one into his sidearm. "We move through the old wine cellar tunnels. It leads to the boat house on the river."
"Can... can Bruno walk?" Sophia asked, eyeing the dog's trembling rear legs.
Bruno stood up slowly. His hind joint gave a sickening pop, and his breath caught in a low whimper, but he refused to drop his hips. He took a rigid step forward, his eyes fixed on Emma.
"He'll walk," Alessandro said, his tone softened by an overwhelming weight of respect. "Or I'll carry him myself."
They moved quickly through the ruined doorway, Marco taking the point position with his weapon raised, while Alessandro covered the rear.
The estate corridors, usually gleaming with polished marble and hung with priceless Renaissance art, were now filled with acrid black smoke and the harsh flicker of emergency red lights.
As they rounded the corner toward the cellar stairs, a heavy shadow stepped out from behind a grand marble pillar.
"Going so soon, Alessandro?"
The voice was aged, smooth, and laced with decades of cold calculation.
Victor Vance stood ten paces away. He wore his tailored grey suit, unbothered by the chaos around him. In his right hand, he held a sleek, silver-plated revolver. Behind him stood four heavily armed mercenaries wearing unmarked black gear.
"Victor," Alessandro said, his voice flat. "Sixteen years."
"Sixteen brilliant years," Victor corrected, a cruel, mocking smile spreading across his wrinkled face. "I built this empire with you, Alessandro. While you wept for your dead brother and played the grand mob prince, I managed the real work. I brought the money in. I cleared the bodies away."
"You set the fire at the Lake Villa," Alessandro stated. It wasn't a question.
Victor chuckled softly. "Your brother was soft. He wanted to legitimize the Moretti name. He wanted to hand the empire over to the authorities in exchange for immunity. I couldn't let him ruin everything we built. So, I took care of him. I took care of his wife. And I took care of his precious infant daughter."
Sophia let out a horrified gasp behind Alessandro.
Victor’s eyes flicked over to Sophia, then settled on Emma. His smirk faded, replaced by a dark, intense fascination.
"I must admit," Victor murmured, adjusting his silk tie, "I was shocked when Julian’s widow showed up on our doorstep looking for an accounting job. I thought my idiot son had died without leaving any loose ends. But then I saw the girl's face. She has your brother's eyes, Alessandro. Exactly like his."
"She’s three years old, Victor," Alessandro growled, his knuckles turning white around his gun. "She knows nothing."
"She is a Moretti bloodline claimant," Victor spat, his voice suddenly sharp with malice. "And as long as she breathes, my control over the syndicate's board will always be questioned by the old loyalists. She dies tonight. Along with you."
Bruno stepped forward.
The ancient dog’s fur stood on end along his spine, making him look twice his size. He let out a deep, guttural growl that reverberated off the marble walls—a sound that carried sixteen years of suppressed rage.
Victor looked down at the dog, his eyes narrowing. "Ah... the mutt. I should have shot him sixteen years ago instead of leaving him in the yard. I thought he was just a stupid animal."
May you like
"He remembered," Alessandro said quietly. "He remembered your voice from the night the villa burned. That's why he never let you touch him, Victor. That's why you called him aggressive."
Victor raised his revolver, aiming it directly at Emma’s chest. "It doesn't matter what an animal remembers. Kill them all."
