Chapter 1 - The Stitched SecretThe silence in Villa Moretti didn’t just linger; it suffocated.
Twelve mafia heads—men whose mere frown could collapse banks and silence prosecutors—sat frozen around the mahogany dining tables. Their eyes shifted back and forth between Alessandro Moretti kneeling on the cold marble, and a battered, threadbare blue rabbit clutched in the tiny hands of a three-year-old child.
“Where did she get this rabbit?”
Alessandro’s voice wasn’t raised. It was low, flat, and absolute, cutting through the cavernous hall like a razor blade.
My heart hammered against my ribs. I threw myself forward, dropping to my knees beside Emma and pulling her slightly behind me, shielding her with my body. In this house, breathing wrong could get a person buried beneath the concrete foundations. A mafia boss taking an interest in my daughter’s toy meant absolute danger.
“It—it was a gift, Mr. Moretti,” I stammered, keeping my eyes fixed on the polished floor. “A charity drop. Months ago, when we were living in the shelter across town. I washed it, mended the ear, and gave it to her.”
Alessandro didn't look at me. His gaze remained locked on the tiny, jagged emblem stitched with black thread into the blue wool of the rabbit's inner ear.
It was a stylized skull crossed with an olive branch—the exact insignia of the Leone Syndicate, the rival faction from Turin that Alessandro had supposedly wiped off the map three years ago in a brutal nocturnal raid.
“A charity drop,” Alessandro repeated softly. He reached out with a leather-gloved finger, tracing the black stitches. “In the East District. District Seven. Right outside the warehouse owned by Marco Vane.”
The color drained entirely from Don Ricci’s face at the head table. Marco Vane was supposed to be dead. His body had never been recovered from the harbor explosion, but everyone—including the twelve families—had assumed he slept with the fishes.
“Marco…” Ricci whispered, his voice trembling. “He survived the fire?”
Alessandro stood up slowly, towering over the assembly. The transformation in him was terrifying. The polite, distant host had vanished, replaced by an apex predator scenting blood in the pack.
“He didn't just survive,” Alessandro said, his eyes snapping toward the dark archway leading to the private security wing. “He planted a spy inside my inner circle. And she—she,” he pointed a finger down at Vivian, who was shaking violently in her red gown, “had the absolute arrogance to scream about a spilled drink while standing meters away from a literal death warrant.”
Vivian dropped to her knees, clutching at Alessandro’s tailored trousers. “Alessandro, I swear to God, I didn’t know! I didn't see the toy! I only saw the maid—”
“Silence,” Alessandro hissed. He didn’t even look down at her. “Guards.”
Four massive enforcers in black suits materialized from the shadows, their hands resting ominously on their holsters.
“Take Miss Romano to the lower vault. Lock her in. Nobody speaks to her, nobody feeds her, until I find out who gave her permission to invite charity workers into my private estate.”
“Alessandro! Please!” Vivian shrieked as they dragged her across the marble, her red dress trailing like a streak of fresh blood across the floor. The other families watched without blinking, their expressions carved from stone. No one dared defend her. In the underworld, stupidity was a capital offense.
Alessandro turned his dark gaze back down to me. The fury in his eyes softened just a fraction as they landed on Emma, who was still bravely hugging her rabbit and glaring up at him.
“What is your name?” he asked me.
“Elena Bennett, sir.”
“Elena,” he repeated, tasting the syllables. He crouched down again, lowering himself to Emma’s eye level. He ignored the millions of dollars worth of jewelry, the terror of the crime lords, and the chaos he had just unleashed. “And your brave little girl?”
“Emma,” she piped up, her initial fear melting away into childish curiosity. “Mr. Bunny likes you. Even if you look angry.”
A faint, humorless ghost of a smile touched the corner of Alessandro’s mouth. He pulled a small, silver-encased pocket watch from his vest and slipped it open, pressing the golden latch. A tiny mechanical tune played for a second before he snapped it shut and handed it directly to Emma.
“A trade,” Alessandro whispered gravely. “To keep Mr. Bunny safe. Deal?”
Emma’s eyes widened. She slowly reached out and took the heavy silver watch. “Deal.”
May you like
Alessandro stood up, his gaze locking onto mine with a intensity that made my breath catch in my throat.
“Elena,” he said, his voice dropping an octave so only I could hear. “Your cleaning days in this house are officially over. Starting tonight, you and your daughter are moving into the east wing. Because someone in this room wants us all dead—and your daughter just handed me the key to finding them.”
