Chapter 4 - The Shadow of Sal Moretti
The announcement that Ivy would attend the high-stakes sit-down sent shockwaves through the estate.
For the next forty-eight hours, the mansion was transformed into a high-security war room. Armed men paced the grounds in shifting shifts. Black SUVs arrived and departed at all hours of the night.
Through it all, Ivy remained at Carmine’s side.
She quickly realized why he wanted her with him. She possessed a remarkable memory for detail—a skill forged from years of memorizing complex inventory lists and staff schedules in the basement. Carmine capitalized on it immediately, using her to catalog financial ledgers, cross-reference shipping manifests, and organize intelligence reports on Moretti’s operations.
She wasn't just a maid placed under his protection; she was becoming his most trusted confidante.
On the evening of the sit-down, the tension inside the mansion was thick enough to cut with a knife.
Ivy stood before the full-length mirror in her guest room suite. She wore an elegant burgundy silk dress that draped gracefully over her frame, its high neckline completely concealing the fading bruises on her throat. Her hair was swept up into an intricate updo, leaving her long, slender neck exposed.
A gentle knock sounded at the door.
"Come in," she said.
Carmine walked in, looking striking in a bespoke black tuxedo. He held a small velvet case in his hands.
He stopped behind her, meeting her eyes in the mirror’s reflection.
"You look stunning, Ivy," he said softly, his deep voice sending a pleasant shiver down her spine.
"I feel like an imposter," she admitted, her hands trembling slightly against the silk fabric of her dress. "These people... they are dangerous, Carmine. What if Moretti realizes why Rocco was killed?"
"Moretti knows why Rocco was killed," Carmine replied calmly. "He knows his nephew was a reckless fool who crossed a line under my roof. The sit-down isn't about finding out the truth. It's about seeing if I am weak enough to let him challenge my authority."
He opened the velvet case, revealing a magnificent diamond necklace that sparkled under the warm room lights.
"May I?" he asked quietly.
Ivy nodded.
Carmine stepped closer, his warm chest pressing gently against her back. He lifted the heavy diamond chain and draped it around her neck. His fingers brushed against her warm skin, sending a wave of electric heat through her body.
He fastened the clasp, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders. His dark eyes met hers in the glass.
"No matter what happens down there tonight," Carmine whispered close to her ear, "do not flinch. Do not look away. You are with me. And as long as I am breathing, no man in this world will ever harm you again."
Ivy turned around to face him, looking into the eyes of the man who had transformed her world from a dark basement nightmare into a palace of safety.
"I trust you, Carmine," she said, her voice steady and clear.
A rare, genuine warmth filled Carmine’s eyes. He offered her his arm. "Then let us go feed the wolves."
They walked down the grand marble staircase together, entering the formal dining room on the main floor.
The massive room was lit by crystal chandeliers. A long mahogany table was set for six. Stationed against the walls were eight of Carmine’s top lieutenants, their hands folded neatly over their waistlines, weapons concealed but ready.
At 8:00 PM sharp, the heavy double doors opened.
Sal Moretti walked in.
He was a thick, brooding man in his late fifties, dressed in a sharp dark suit with slicked-back gray hair. His face was weathered, carved by decades of violence, and his small, dark eyes radiated a sinister, cruel intelligence.
Behind him walked two hulking bodyguards, their eyes scanning the room aggressively.
Sal’s eyes immediately swept over the room, landing on Carmine—and then shifting directly to Ivy, who sat gracefully at Carmine’s right hand.
"Carmine," Sal boomed, his voice rough and rasping. "It’s been too long."
"Sal," Carmine replied smoothly, gesturing to the empty chair across the table. "Sit. Have some wine."
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Sal didn't sit immediately. Instead, he took a step toward the table, his predatory gaze locked entirely on Ivy. A cruel, mocking smile spread across his face.
"So," Sal sneered, pointing a thick finger at her. "This is the little kitchen maid my nephew was chasing. The girl who cost me my best lieutenant."
