Chapter 7 - THE UNTOUCHABLE WITNESSThe federal raid was swift, surgical, and absolute. By 5:00 AM, the Moretti estate looked less like a criminal syndicate headquarters and more like a high-security federal crime scene. Black-and-white police cruisers lined the winding driveway three deep, their emergency lights painting the towering oak trees in alternating flashes of crimson and azure.
Vincent Moretti was dragged out of the command center in heavy steel handcuffs, his bespoke suit stained with plaster dust, his face twisted in a snarl of impotent rage as federal agents shoved him into the back of an armored transport van.
Inside the grand foyer, the atmosphere was thick with a strange, heavy quiet.
Aleandro stood by the massive floor-to-ceiling fireplace, nursing a glass of un-iced whiskey. His throat still throbbed faintly where the needle had pierced his skin hours ago, a physical reminder of how close he had come to the dark.
A pair of federal marshals approached him, their badges gleaming under the crystal chandelier.
“Mr. Moretti,” the lead agent began, his voice flat and professional. “Your cooperation with the federal wiretap upload has altered the scope of our investigation significantly. The RICO indictment against Vincent Moretti and his faction is airtight. However, regarding your own status—”
“My legal counsel will be in touch by noon with the full asset-forfeiture compliance paperwork,” Aleandro interrupted, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Every account tied to the conspiracy has already been frozen.”
The agent nodded cautiously, recognizing the untouchable aura of a man who played chess while the rest of the world played checkers. “And the civilian, Sophia Carter?”
Aleandro looked past the agent’s shoulder.
Across the marble hall, sitting on a velvet settee, was Sophia. She had washed the dirt and sweat from her face, though the faint shadow of exhaustion still lingered beneath her eyes. Kneeling beside her was little Emma, busy drawing something with a blue crayon on the back of an old federal incident report, her pink rabbit backpack resting safely on the cushion next to her.
“Sophia Carter,” Aleandro said slowly, “is a guest of this house. And anyone who suggests otherwise will answer directly to me.”
The marshals exchanged a brief look, nodded once, and stepped back into the courtyard.
Aleandro finished his whiskey in a single, burning swallow, set the heavy crystal glass down on the mantelpiece, and began to walk across the hall toward the mother and child.
May you like
He had spent twenty years believing that loyalty could only be bought with fear, blood, and bullet casings.
He was about to learn how wrong he was.
