Chapter 10 – THE BLOOD OF NAPLES

“Send her out, Adrian. Or I take the child.”

The words scrawled on the back of Sophie’s drawing burned into my retinas.

“Lock the house down!” Adrian roared into his radio. “Nobody gets past those gates! Get Matteo to the safe room with Sophie now!”

The mansion instantly transformed into a fortress. Steel shutters slammed down over the windows. Dozens of Adrian’s guards flooded the front lawn, taking up defensive positions behind the stone pillars.

I stood in the foyer, shaking violently. “Adrian, we have to call the police. We have to call the FBI.”

“The FBI can’t stop the Camorra, Elena,” Adrian said grimly, chambering a round into his pistol. “Dante operates entirely in the shadows. He has diplomatic immunity through corrupt politicians in Rome. If they arrest him, he’s out in an hour. And he’ll keep coming.”

“What does he want?” I cried. “I don’t have his money! I don’t know his business!”

“He wants your bloodline,” Adrian said, walking toward the heavy front doors. “He wants to marry you off to one of his lieutenants to secure his legacy. You are a pawn to him.”

Adrian pulled open the front door.

“Stay behind me,” he ordered.

We walked out onto the grand stone portico. The rain had started to fall again, a cold, miserable Chicago drizzle.

Dante Vitiello stood on the other side of the wrought-iron gates. He looked immaculate, unaffected by the weather. He had the same dark eyes as me, the same sharp jawline. It was horrifying to look into the face of a stranger and see a twisted reflection of myself.

“Adrian Moretti,” Dante called out, his voice smooth and heavily accented. “You have grown into a formidable man. Your father would be proud.”

“Keep my father’s name out of your mouth, Dante,” Adrian shouted over the rain. “You have no business in Chicago.”

“I have family in Chicago,” Dante corrected, his eyes locking onto me. He smiled, a cold, terrifying expression. “Hello, Elena. You have your mother’s beauty. It is a tragedy she stole you from me.”

“She didn’t steal me,” I yelled back, finding my courage. “She saved me from a monster.”

Dante sighed, adjusting his expensive silk tie. “Lucia always was dramatic. But the past is the past. I am offering a peaceful resolution, Adrian. Open the gates. Let my daughter come with me to New York, and from there to Naples. She will be treated like a queen. And our families will enjoy a lucrative alliance.”

“And if I refuse?” Adrian challenged.

Dante gestured to the six armored SUVs behind him. “I have two hundred men scattered across this city. I know where your businesses are. I know where your shipments arrive. I will bleed your empire dry, Adrian. And then, I will take her anyway. Along with the little girl.”

My breath hitched. He was threatening Sophie.

Adrian didn’t blink. He walked right up to the iron gates, standing inches away from the man who claimed to be my father.

“You think you can come into my city and threaten my niece?” Adrian whispered, his voice vibrating with lethal intent.

“It is not a threat, boy. It is a promise,” Dante sneered.

“Then let me make you a promise,” Adrian said smoothly. He reached into his coat and pulled out a small, heavy object.

He tossed it through the bars of the gate.

It landed at Dante’s feet with a heavy metallic clink.

Dante looked down. His smug expression vanished instantly.

It was a thick, ornate gold ring. A signet ring bearing the Vitiello family crest.

“Where did you get this?” Dante demanded, his voice suddenly sharp with panic.

“I pulled it off the finger of your underboss in New York three hours ago,” Adrian lied flawlessly, his bluffing skills as sharp as my mother’s. “Did you really think I didn’t know you were coming, Dante? The Commission warned me.”

Dante took a step back.

“Don Salieri doesn’t tolerate foreign syndicates making demands on American soil,” Adrian continued, his voice booming over the rain. “He specifically told me that if the Camorra stepped foot in Chicago, I have his blessing to wipe you off the map. And Salieri sent me a little gift to help.”

Adrian raised his hand and snapped his fingers.

The heavy steel doors of the Moretti garage slowly rolled open.

Stepping out of the shadows weren’t just Adrian’s men. They were heavily armed mercenaries wearing unmarked tactical gear, carrying military-grade weaponry.

“Those are New York’s elite cleaners,” Adrian bluffed, pointing at the men. “If you don’t turn those SUVs around right now, Dante, you won’t make it to the airport. You will die on this street, and your empire in Naples will fall by morning.”

Dante stared at the tactical team. He looked at the gold ring in the mud. He was a master manipulator, but he couldn’t afford a war with the Five Families.

His jaw clenched. He looked at me one last time, pure hatred burning in his eyes.

“This isn’t over, Elena,” Dante hissed.

“Yes, it is,” I said fiercely. “You are not my father. Roberto Moretti was my father. Adrian is my brother. And you are nothing but a ghost.”

Dante turned sharply. He climbed into the back of his armored Mercedes. The convoy aggressively reversed out of the driveway, speeding away into the Chicago rain.

They were gone.

I slumped against the stone pillar, my legs giving out.

Adrian caught me, pulling me up. He was breathing hard, the adrenaline slowly leaving his system.

“Was that a bluff?” I asked, looking at the tactical team.

“Half of it,” Adrian smiled weakly. “They’re my men, just wearing fancy gear. But Salieri did warn me Dante was sniffing around. We have the Commission’s backing.”

“He said it isn’t over.”

“He’s a coward,” Adrian promised. “He won’t risk a war he can’t win. You’re safe, Elena. I swear it.”

We walked back into the warmth of the mansion.

But as we crossed the foyer, Mrs. Gable hurried toward us, her face pale.

“Mr. Adrian, Miss Elena,” she stammered. “It’s Matteo. He just found something in the safe room.”

We rushed down to the secure basement. Matteo was standing in the center of the reinforced room, holding Sophie tightly.

“What is it?” Adrian demanded.

Matteo pointed to a small wooden table in the corner.

Resting perfectly in the center of the table was a delicate, folded white napkin.

And written on the napkin in elegant, cursive handwriting was a single sentence:

You protect them well, Adrian. But you can’t protect them from the inside.

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