Chapter 4 - THE RIVAL’S STRIKETitle: Blood on the Foyer: The Night the Moretti Syndicate Declared War on Daisy
The clinking of crystal silverware against porcelain was the only sound filling the grand dining room until Daisy took a sip of her sparkling water and set the glass down with a soft click.
"You didn't answer my question earlier," Daisy said, her gaze steady across the candlelit table. "Why me? There are thousands of animal behaviorists in New York with degrees from Cornell and Tufts. I went to a community college in Yonkers and learned how to groom poodles from an eccentric old woman named Brenda. Why bring me into a fortress filled with armed men?"
Aleandro sliced a piece of braised short rib, chewing slowly before setting his knife down. "Because diplomas teach you how to treat animals like machines, Daisy. They teach you compliance through fear or conditioned reinforcement. You didn't treat Barnaby like a machine. You treated him like an equal who was having a terrible Tuesday." He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "In my world, everyone approaches me with an angle. They want money, protection, or mercy. You walked past a dozen armed capos and asked if my guard dog was having a bad day. That kind of innocence is either suicidal or priceless. I've decided it's the latter."
Daisy opened her mouth to deliver a sharp retort about being treated like a pet project, but before a single word could escape her lips, the heavy double doors of the dining room exploded inward.
The solid oak wood splintered into a thousand jagged pieces as a concussive shockwave rippled through the air. A deafening roar—the unmistakable thunder of automatic gunfire—shattered the quiet of the estate.
Bang! Bang! Bang-bang-bang!
"Ambush!"
Salvatore’s voice bellowed from the hallway, followed by the frantic shouting of guards and the staccato return fire of submachine guns.
Before Daisy could process what was happening, Aleandro moved with terrifying, blinding speed. In a fraction of a second, he vaulted across the mahogany table, shattering wine glasses and sending plates crashing to the floor. He slammed his body into Daisy’s, knocking her out of her chair and shielding her with his broad frame just as a hail of high-caliber bullets shredded the heavy velvet curtains behind them.
"Stay down!" Aleandro barked, his voice fierce, authority radiating from every tense muscle in his body.
Glass rained down from the shattered windows. The smell of cordite and burning gunpowder instantly overwhelmed the scent of truffle risotto.
"What is happening?" Daisy gasped, her hands instinctively clutching the lapels of Aleandro’s white shirt as he pinned her safely against the thick Persian rug beneath the table. Her heart hammered wildly against her ribs, not just from the proximity of the gunfire, but from the raw, crushing weight of the man protecting her.
"The Moretti syndicate," Aleandro growled, his jaw clenched tight as he reached beneath his armpit and smoothly unholstered a heavy, custom-engraved Beretta pistol. His dark eyes flicked down to meet hers, burning with cold, incandescent fury. "They thought they could strike while we were dining. They thought wrong."
"They're shooting up my rescue dogs' wing!" Daisy hissed, panic momentarily overriding her fear as she realized the gunfire was concentrated on the north courtyard.
"Your dogs are in a bunker reinforced with three inches of steel plate," Aleandro snapped back, his mind calculating angles and exits with lethal precision. "Nobody touches your dogs. And nobody touches you."
A heavy shadow fell across the shattered dining room entrance. Two men in tactical black gear, their faces concealed by ski masks and bearing the insignia of the Moretti crime family, stepped through the smoking doorway, rifles raised.
Aleandro didn't hesitate. From his prone position on the floor, still shielding Daisy with one arm, he raised his Beretta.
Crack! Crack!
Two crisp, deafening shots echoed through the room. Both masked intruders dropped instantly, hitting the hardwood floor without making a sound.
Aleandro looked down at Daisy, his chest heaving slightly from the adrenaline surge. His hand was warm where it pressed against her waist, holding her securely against him. "Are you hit?"
"No," Daisy whispered, her eyes wide as she stared up at the man who had just transformed from an enigmatic billionaire into a ruthless mafia executioner in less than three seconds. "Are you?"
"I don't bleed easily," Aleandro replied quietly, his gaze dropping momentarily to her lips before snapping back toward the door as Salvatore’s voice crackled over the tactical radio clipped to Aleandro's belt.
Boss. Perimeter is secure. We dropped four of their vanguard at the front gate, but Marco Moretti sent a car bomb into the outer wall. The estate is locked down.
Aleandro keyed the radio with his free hand. "Sweep the grounds. Leave one alive. I want to know who let them through our outer sensor grid." He clicked off, then looked down at Daisy, whose emerald dress was now smudged with soot and dust.
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"Well," Daisy whispered shakily, trying to inject a fraction of her usual humor into the terrifying chaos. "I suppose this beats doing paperwork at the vet clinic."
Aleandro’s lips twitched into a dangerous, dark smile. "Welcome to the Dantis Empire, Daisy. There are no refunds."
