Chapter 7 - The Wrath of the Don
The grand marble foyer of the Moretti estate fell into a silence so absolute that the flickering of the candle flames in the brass sconces seemed loud.
Mrs. Gable stood petrified, the cheap glass replica of the Moretti brooch slipping through her sweat-slicked fingers. It struck the polished floor with a sharp, hollow clatter. Her gaze was locked onto the top of the grand staircase, where Giovanni Moretti stood straight-backed, his eyes burning with the lethal, calculating fire that had commanded the East Coast underworld for four decades.
For months, everyone in the mansion believed the old Don had deteriorated into a helpless, senile shell of a man—drooling into his oatmeal, staring blankly out frosty windows, unable to remember his own son’s name.
It had all been a game. A lethal, patient trap.
"M-Mr. Moretti..." Mrs. Gable stammered, her voice shaking violently as all color vanished from her skin. "You... you can walk? You're..."
"Disappointed, Abigail?" Giovanni’s gravelly voice rolled down the marble steps like distant thunder. He descended slowly, each tap of his silver-topped cane echoing with deliberate malice. "Did you truly believe that thirty years of ruling this city could be undone by a minor stroke? Or did you think your watered-down soup and locked doors were enough to break me?"
On the freezing floor, Nora remained on her knees, trembling, her hands instinctively curled over her swollen belly. Her tear-streaked face was pale with utter disbelief. The fragile old man she had spent weeks protecting—the lonely grandfather who gently held her hand when her back ached from scrubbing floors, the man she smuggled warm bread and tea to in the dead of winter—was stepping down like a restored monarch.
Giovanni reached the bottom of the staircase. He did not spare a single glance at the line of cowering house staff or the security guards whose hands trembled near their holsters.
Instead, the legendary Don bypassed Mrs. Gable completely and walked straight toward Nora.
"Mr. Moretti... please," Nora choked out, her breath ragged with panic. "I didn't steal anything. I promise you, on my baby's life, I didn't—"
"Hush, child," Giovanni interrupted softly.
To the absolute shock of every guard and maid in the hall, Giovanni dropped to one knee. He placed a warm, steady hand over Nora’s trembling fingers, gently lifting her from the icy marble.
"You do not kneel in this house," Giovanni said, his voice dropping to a fierce, paternal rasp that carried across the entire foyer. "Not before my son. Not before these snakes. And certainly not before a miserable wretch like Abigail Gable."
Lorenzo took a slow step forward, his towering frame casting a dark, protective shadow beside his father and Nora. His iron-gray eyes were devoid of mercy as he turned toward Mrs. Gable.
"My father gave you a position of absolute trust in this home ten years ago, Gable," Lorenzo said, his voice smooth, cold, and deadlier than an open blade. "And the moment you thought his mind was gone, you took payoffs from my rivals to slowly poison his broth, isolate him in the east wing, and treat him like vermin. You even tried to frame the only human being under this roof who showed him genuine kindness."
"No! Sir, that's a lie!" Gable shrieked, backing away until she hit the chest of two armed sentries. "I served this family! That girl is a common street tramp! She seduced her way into the house, she—"
*Crack.*
Giovanni’s silver cane struck the marble floor an inch from Gable’s designer shoe. The sharp sound silenced her instantly.
"You slapped my hand when I asked for an extra blanket in December," Giovanni said, his voice chillingly calm. "You poured cold water into my tea. You told me I was a rotting corpse who would die forgotten in the dark. And through all of it, this pregnant girl brought me warm soup she paid for with her own wages. She cleaned my room on her knees when her ankles were swollen with exhaustion. She wiped my face when you left me in the filth."
Giovanni turned to his son, his eyes flashing with an authority that had never truly faded. "Lorenzo. Take the trash to the cellar. I want to know every name she spoke to, every bank account that received a wire, and every dog who thought the Morettis were weak."
"With pleasure, Father," Lorenzo replied smoothly. He signaled with a flick of his gloved fingers.
Two stone-faced guards seized Mrs. Gable beneath the arms. Her shrieks of terror echoed down the marble corridors as she was dragged away, her heels kicking uselessly against the stone floor until the heavy iron door of the basement slammed shut.
In the heavy quiet that followed, Giovanni turned back to Nora, whose body was shivering uncontrollably from the shock and the freezing draft of the foyer.
"Look at me, little bird," Giovanni said gently, using the affectionate nickname he had whispered to her on the days she thought he couldn't speak.
Nora looked up, tears spilling over her flushed cheeks. "You... you were awake the whole time?"
"Every single second," Giovanni smiled faintly, his aged eyes brimming with rare tenderness. "And I know a true heart when I see one. You kept an old man alive when his own flesh and blood was too busy fighting wars to notice the poison in his tea."
Lorenzo stepped closer, his piercing gray eyes sweeping over Nora's pale face and her trembling frame. For the first time since Nora had arrived at the estate, the ruthless mafia boss looked at her without cold skepticism. In his gaze was something deep, turbulent, and undeniably fierce.
Without a word of warning, Lorenzo reached down, slid one powerful arm behind Nora’s shoulders and the other beneath her knees, and swept her up into his arms against his broad, muscular chest.
"M-Mr. Moretti!" Nora gasped, clutching his charcoal suit jacket in sheer reflex.
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"You're freezing, Nora," Lorenzo murmured against her ear, his deep voice sending an electric shiver through her spine. "And from this moment on, nobody in this city will ever make you drop to your knees again."
***
