Chapter 4 - The Threat at the Gate
The morning news brought shockwaves across Massachusetts. Dominic Vance had walked into the federal building downtown, flanked by two attorneys, carrying complete financial ledgers documenting twenty years of illegal operations orchestrated by the Moretti crime family. Arrest warrants were issued for sixteen high-ranking Moretti capos before noon.
Salvatore Moretti, the aging don who had ruled the South End with unchecked brutality, knew his empire was collapsing. And he knew exactly who had orchestrated the maneuver without firing a single shot in public.
At three in the afternoon, while autumn rain tapped against the French doors of my estate, I sat in the sunroom watching Elsie.
The little girl was completely oblivious to the underworld earthquake rocking the city. She sat at a low mahogany coffee table, happily humming a nursery rhyme while gluing yellow glitter onto paper stars. Beside her, Margaret was pouring chamomile tea, her hands noticeably calmer than the day before.
"Mr. Gabriel!" Elsie called out, waving a freshly cut green star. "This one is for when you are tired!"
I walked over, pulling a chair close to her small table. "Thank you, Elsie. What makes green special?"
"Green means go to sleep and have nice dreams," she explained solemnly, handing the glittery paper to me with both hands. "My mom told me that before she went to the stars."
My heart clenched. I looked at Margaret, who lowered her head, wiping away a quiet tear.
"Her mother passed away two years ago, Mr. Rinaldi," Margaret whispered softly. "Leukemia. She was all my daughter had."
Before I could answer, the heavy front gates of the estate buzzed with an urgent distress alarm.
The intercom on the wall crackled to life, Mateo’s voice sharp and strained through the static: "Boss! We have a problem at the perimeter! Three black SUVs just rammed through the outer checkpoint! They’re heavily armed! Salvatore Moretti sent his personal hit squad!"
Gunfire echoed in the distance, muffled by the heavy trees lining the driveway.
Margaret screamed, dropping the porcelain teapot to the floor where it shattered into shards. Elsie gasped, clutching her grandmother’s skirts, her brown eyes widening in sudden, terrifying recognition of the sound.
"Margaret, take Elsie down to the safe room beneath the wine cellar," I commanded instantly, the warmth vanishing from my face as cold, lethal instinct took over. "Lock the vault door and do not open it for anyone except my voice."
"Mr. Gabriel!" Elsie cried out as her grandmother scooped her into her arms. "Don't get angry!"
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I turned to look at the little girl, reaching into my pocket to pull out the blue star she had given me yesterday. I held it up so she could see it through the dim light.
"I won't squeeze, sweetheart," I promised softly. "Now go with your grandmother."
