Chapter 5 - The Lesson Outside
The heavy double doors of the gymnasium swung shut behind them, sealing off the laughter of the children and the terrified murmurs of the parents.
Aleandro and Julian stepped out into the quiet, sunlit brick courtyard behind Saint Jude’s Academy. Tall hedges shielded them from the street, but the open space was completely empty.
Julian tried to maintain his arrogant smirk, though a bead of sweat rolled down his temple as Aleandro closed the distance between them without a word.
“Relax, Moretti,” Julian scoffed, shoving his hands into his pockets. “We’re in a school zone. You can't touch me here, and we both know—oof!”
The sentence ended abruptly as Aleandro’s right hand lashed out with terrifying speed, grabbing Julian by the lapels of his expensive Italian suit and lifting him completely off the ground.
Julian’s heels dangled inches above the pavement. His smug confidence evaporated instantly, replaced by sheer, primal panic as he looked into Aleandro’s eyes—eyes that looked like polished granite reflecting an executioner’s block.
“You have a very short memory, Julian,” Aleandro whispered, his voice so quiet it sounded like a death sentence hissed through winter wind.
“I—I was just joking—” Julian choked out, his hands clawing frantically at Aleandro’s wrists. “Let me go! People are watching—”
“No one is watching,” Aleandro corrected coldly. “My men cleared this courtyard three minutes ago.”
At that exact moment, the heavy side gate clicked open. Marco Ricci stepped into the courtyard, holding a thick manila folder in one hand. Marco didn't even look at Julian dangling in the air; he simply walked up to Aleandro and handed over the file.
“Everything is secured,” Marco reported smoothly. “Julian’s real estate shell company in Queens was audited by our tax attorneys this morning. His commercial properties are currently being foreclosed on by a Moretti front corporation. By sunset, he won't even own the clothes on his back.”
Aleandro looked down at Julian, whose face had turned the color of chalk.
“You wanted to talk about business, Julian?” Aleandro asked softly. “You wanted to question who I am and what I care about?”
“Please...” Julian whispered, tears of terror stinging his eyes. “My family... my business—”
“You brought business into a place where children are trying to learn how to laugh,” Aleandro said, his voice dropping an octave lower. “You threatened the one thing in this courtyard that has never lied, never cheated, and never asked for blood.”
Aleandro didn't punch him. Instead, with a flick of his massive wrists, he tossed Julian backward across the brick pavement like a discarded rag doll. Julian crashed hard onto his hands and knees, gasping for breath, his expensive suit ruined by dirt and gravel.
“If you ever come within five miles of Sophia, her mother, or this school again,” Aleandro said, stepping slowly toward the trembling developer, “I won't just take your money, Julian. I’ll take your tongue.”
Julian scrambled backward on all fours, hauled himself to his feet, and ran blindly toward the side gate, disappearing down the sidewalk in a panic.
Marco watched him go, a faint, humorless smirk touching the corner of his mouth. “Well, that should clear the air for the finger-painting session.”
Aleandro adjusted his navy sweater, smoothing down the fabric as if nothing had happened. He checked his watch.
“How much time do we have before the park?”
Marco blinked, checking his digital tablet. “The park schedule starts at 11:30 a.m. But Boss... Frank Solanzio’s primary enforcer was just spotted entering a diner three blocks away. Are you sure you want to proceed with the public schedule?”
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Aleandro looked back toward the heavy glass doors of the gymnasium, where he could faintly see a small yellow dress moving among the crowd of children.
“Solanzio can wait,” Aleandro said quietly. “Sophia is waiting for a swing.”
