Chapter 6 - Shadows in the Snow
By dawn, the blizzard had reached its peak. Howling winds slammed tons of white powder against the estate’s reinforced windows, cutting off the long winding driveway and ensuring that nobody could leave—or enter—without Lorenzo’s express permission.
In the lavish master kitchen on the ground floor, Mrs. Gable was pacing like a caged animal.
Her mind was racing. The way Lorenzo had looked at that wretched, pregnant maid yesterday had sent alarm bells ringing through her skull. Lorenzo was no fool. If that little slut opened her mouth and told him about the freezing rooms, the stolen stipends, and the cut corners, Gable wouldn't just be fired—she would end up at the bottom of the Hudson River.
"I have to get rid of her," Gable muttered to herself, her fingernails digging into her palms. "Before he speaks to her again."
She walked swiftly to the staff locker room in the basement. Using a master key, she unlocked Nora’s small, rusted locker. Inside hung Nora’s only winter coat—a thin, faded denim jacket lined with cheap faux shearling.
Gable reached into her pocket and pulled out a heavy velvet pouch. Inside was a diamond-and-emerald brooch belonging to the late Mrs. Moretti, valued at over one hundred thousand dollars, which Gable had stolen from the estate’s safe a month prior.
With a wicked, triumphant smirk, Gable shoved the pouch deep into the inner lining of Nora’s coat.
"Let's see the mafia prince protect a thief," Gable whispered coldly.
Two hours later, the entire estate was summoned to the grand foyer.
The roaring fireplace crackled loudly as the thirty members of the household staff stood in an uneasy, shivering line. Armed Moretti guards stood at every exit, their submachine guns resting against their tactical vests, creating an atmosphere of impending execution.
Lorenzo sat on a high-backed leather sofa in the center of the room, sipping an espresso. His face was an unreadable mask of dark power. Beside him stood Marco, checking a black leather folder.
Suddenly, Mrs. Gable came marching down the grand marble staircase, dragging Nora by the scruff of her uniform collar.
"Let go of me! Please!" Nora cried out, stumbling, one hand frantically shielding her swollen stomach as she tried to keep her footing on the slick marble steps.
"Silence, you little rat!" Gable screamed theatrically, ensuring every guard and staff member heard her.
With a violent shove, Gable pushed Nora onto the polished floor at Lorenzo's feet. Nora hit her knees with a muffled gasp of pain, curling around her unborn baby as she looked up in terror.
"Mr. Moretti! Forgive the disturbance!" Gable announced loudly, breathing heavily, feigning utter outrage. "I warned you about this girl! I told you she was untrustworthy! During our routine morning inspection of the staff quarters, look what was found hidden inside her coat!"
With a dramatic flourish, Mrs. Gable pulled the velvet pouch from her apron and emptied its contents into her palm.
The diamond-and-emerald brooch sparkled brilliantly beneath the foyer's crystal chandelier. Several maids gasped in shock.
"Your late mother's heirloom!" Gable declared, pointing an accusatory, trembling finger down at Nora. "She stole it, Mr. Moretti! A thieving, ungrateful parasite living under your roof! Throw her out into the blizzard, sir! Let her freeze as she deserves!"
The room plunged into a suffocating, terrifying silence.
Nora looked up at Lorenzo, her eyes wide, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. "I didn't take it... I swear to God, Mr. Moretti, I've never stolen anything in my life! Please believe me..."
Lorenzo set his espresso cup down on the saucer with a soft, deliberate *clink*.
He didn't look at the diamonds. He looked down at Nora, kneeling on the freezing marble.
Then, slowly, Lorenzo stood up.
He didn't walk toward Nora with fury. Instead, he stepped right past the weeping girl and stopped directly in front of Mrs. Gable, his towering height casting a massive, terrifying shadow over the head housekeeper.
"You found it in her locker?" Lorenzo asked, his voice silky, quiet, and deadlier than a loaded gun.
"Y-yes, sir! With my own hands!" Gable said, though a sudden spike of primal dread hit her stomach as she noticed Lorenzo wasn't looking at Nora with anger at all.
"That's fascinating, Mrs. Gable," Lorenzo whispered, tilting his head slightly. "Because my father was the one who gave me that brooch three years ago. The piece in your hand is a fake—a replica made of glass and cheap brass, which I placed in the estate safe yesterday morning to see which rat would take the bait."
Mrs. Gable’s breath caught in her throat. The color completely drained from her face, leaving her a sickly shade of gray.
"And even more fascinating," Lorenzo continued, his gray eyes turning pitch black with venom, "is that someone else would like to have a word with you."
From the top of the grand staircase came the slow, steady sound of footsteps.
Every single head in the foyer turned upward.
Standing at the top of the stairs, perfectly upright, dressed in an immaculate Italian tailored suit, stood Giovanni Moretti. He gripped a polished silver cane in his right hand, not for support, but like a scepter of absolute power.
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The old Don looked down at Mrs. Gable, his eyes burning with the wrath of a resurrected king.
"Did you really think," Giovanni’s thunderous voice echoed through the massive hall, freezing everyone to their very bones, "that I wouldn't remember every single thing you did to me?"
