Chapter 9 – THE MANILA ENVELOPE

I stared down at the manila envelope, my heart giving a sudden, violent lurch.

The house was finally quiet. The early morning sunlight was streaming through the stained glass windows of the grand staircase, casting colorful, peaceful shadows across the mahogany floors. The war was supposed to be over.

But the words written on the envelope in Victoria’s elegant, cursive script sent a fresh chill down my spine.

For Gabriel. To be opened if I am arrested.

I bent down and picked it up. It felt heavy, like it contained photographs or a thick stack of documents. My first instinct was to throw it directly into the fireplace. Victoria had done enough damage.

But I couldn’t. If she had left a dead-man’s switch, Gabriel needed to know.

I hurried back to the study. Gabriel and Dominic were still standing by the balcony, finishing their drinks in exhausted silence.

“Mr. Moretti,” I said, stepping through the splintered doorframe.

Gabriel turned, his shoulders immediately tensing when he saw the look on my face. “What is it, Claire?”

I held out the envelope. “I found this under a rug near the linen closet. It’s from Victoria.”

Gabriel’s jaw tightened. He set his glass down, walked over, and snatched the envelope from my hands. He ripped the top open.

Inside were three things: a flash drive, a printed bank statement, and a single, handwritten note.

Gabriel read the note out loud, his voice turning to gravel.

“Gabriel, my father may be a fool, and your father may be a coward hiding from the Commission. But I am neither. Did you really think I would move into your home without an insurance policy? If you’re reading this, it means I’ve lost. But I won’t let Isabella win. Check the flash drive. The men I hired to attack the mansion weren’t my only investment.”

Dominic stepped forward, snatching the printed bank statement. “Gabriel… this is a wire transfer. Half a million dollars. Sent to an offshore account yesterday afternoon.”

“A hit,” Gabriel breathed, his eyes widening in horror. “She didn’t just hire Elias’s thugs. She hired a professional.”

“Who did she wire it to?” Dominic asked frantically.

Gabriel plugged the flash drive into his laptop. A single video file popped up. He clicked play.

The screen showed security footage from the mansion’s front gates, timestamped three days ago. It showed Victoria standing in the rain, speaking to a man in a dark raincoat.

The man turned his face toward the camera.

My blood ran cold.

It was Marco.

“No,” Gabriel whispered, staggering backward. “No, Marco has been with me for ten years.”

“He’s the head of security,” Dominic panicked. “He controls the cameras. He controls the gate codes. Gabriel, Marco is the one who escorted Elias and Victoria to the police cruisers ten minutes ago! He’s the one who sent the rest of the guards home to rest!”

The realization hit us all at exactly the same time.

The house was empty. The guards were gone.

And Marco was inside the mansion with us.

BZZZZT.

The power in the mansion suddenly cut out. The hum of the central air conditioning died. The security panels on the walls went black.

We were plunged into the eerie, quiet shadows of the morning light.

“He cut the main breaker,” Gabriel said, pulling his empty Glock from his waistband and cursing. “I dropped my spare mags at the railyard.”

“I have my piece,” Dominic said, pulling a snub-nosed revolver. “But it only has five rounds.”

“Where are Isabella and the kids?” Gabriel demanded, turning to me.

“Lily’s room. Second floor, east wing,” I said, my voice trembling.

“We have to get to them before Marco does,” Gabriel said, moving toward the door.

But as we stepped out into the hallway, a heavy, rhythmic clapping echoed from the top of the grand staircase.

We looked up.

Marco stood on the landing, wearing his tactical vest and holding a suppressed submachine gun. He looked down at Gabriel with cold, dead eyes.

“Nothing personal, Boss,” Marco said, his voice echoing in the silent house. “But Victoria offered me enough to retire in the Caymans. And your father promised me a seat at the Commission table if I erased you.”

“You son of a bitch,” Dominic snarled, raising his revolver.

PFFT-PFFT.

Marco fired two suppressed shots.

Dominic cried out, dropping his gun as a bullet grazed his shoulder. He fell against the wall, clutching his bleeding arm.

“Stay down, Dom,” Marco warned. He aimed the gun directly at Gabriel’s chest. “You’re done, Gabriel. The era of the honorable mafia boss is over. It’s time for the ruthless to take back the city.”

Gabriel stood between me and the stairs, shielding me. He had no weapon. He had no backup.

“Marco,” Gabriel said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “If you kill me, you know the Commission will hunt you. Even my father can’t protect you from them.”

“The Commission will think Elias did it,” Marco smiled. “I already planted Elias’s gun in the foyer. It’s a perfect frame job.”

Marco’s finger tightened on the trigger.

I closed my eyes.

But then, a loud, familiar click echoed from the shadows behind Marco.

Click-clack.

Marco froze.

From the darkness of the second-floor hallway, Isabella stepped out.

She was holding the heavy pump-action shotgun Gabriel kept locked in his bedroom safe.

“You forgot one thing, Marco,” Isabella said, her voice shaking with absolute, maternal fury.

Marco slowly turned his head. “What’s that, Mrs. Moretti?”

“I’m not the scared little girl who ran away six years ago,” Isabella said.

She pulled the trigger.

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