Chapter 5 - The Secret in the Desk
Antonio Russo's face mottled with rage. "You are making the biggest mistake of your miserable life, Moretti! You will drown in your own harbor before the month is out!"
With a furious curse, Antonio grabbed his sobbing daughter by the wrist and stormed toward the front foyer, his bodyguards scrambling to clear a path. Marcus lingered by the doorway, his hands clenching and unclenching, his face pale with panic.
"Dante, think about what you've done!" Marcus urged, running up beside him. "The Russos control fifty percent of the northern shipments! If they align with the Falcone family, we will be outgunned three to one!"
"Henry," Dante said, ignoring Marcus completely.
The elderly butler stepped forward from the shadows, bowing his head respectfully. "Yes, Mr. Moretti?"
"Take Miss Miller and Sophie upstairs. Have Dr. Reynolds examine the child immediately. Ensure the nursery door is guarded by two trusted men from the inner circle."
"At once, sir."
Henry helped Anna to her feet. Anna looked back at Dante, her eyes wide with a mixture of profound gratitude and overwhelming terror. "Thank you, Mr. Moretti... but they are dangerous people. You shouldn't have done that for us."
"Go to your daughter," Dante replied without looking at her.
Once the room was cleared of staff, Dante turned to Marcus. "Gather the captains. Tomorrow morning at dawn, we secure the perimeter of the docks. If Russo moves a single crate through our waters, seize it."
"Of course, boss," Marcus muttered, his eyes narrowing as he turned and walked out into the corridor.
Later that night, the mansion fell into an uneasy quiet. Dante sat in his grand mahogany library, illuminated only by the dying embers of the fireplace. On his desk lay the collection of paper stars he had accumulated over the past three weeks—silver, pink, purple, and the wine-stained yellow sun star.
He carefully lifted the gold star from his jacket lapel. He had kept it in the same spot for nearly a month, never allowing anyone to touch it. He brought it close to the green desk lamp.
There was something strange about the adhesive backing. It wasn't the standard peel-and-stick glue of a cheap toy. It was backed by a tiny, ultra-thin strip of translucent medical tape, folded over a miniature metallic thread.
Dante's pulse spiked.
He reached into his drawer for a jeweler’s magnifying glass and a surgical scalpel. Carefully, with hands that did not shake, he peeled back the layers of paper.
Hidden inside the five-pointed star was a micro-engraving, visible only under magnification: an insignia of two crossed falcons above a Roman numeral nine—the private seal of Matteo Moretti, Dante’s younger brother who had supposedly died in an ambush nine years ago.
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Beneath the seal was a tiny, hand-scratched message in Matteo's unmistakable handwriting:
“Protect them, Dante. Sophie is blood.”
