Chapter 3 - The Blood Oath in the Nursery
By 3:00 A.M., the storm outside had settled into a steady, low drizzle, but the inside of the Moretti estate was ablaze with activity.
Thirty heavily armed tactical guards lined the perimeter walls. The heavy iron gates at the end of the two-hundred-yard driveway were locked down with solid steel security bars, and armed sentries with tactical dogs patrolled the manicured lawns every ten minutes.
Down in the sub-basement processing room beneath the east wing, screams had echoed for two hours before dying out into total, permanent silence. The traitors had been handled. The West Side syndicate’s operational network had been mapped out on Alejandro’s whiteboards, and by dawn, four rival capos across Chicago would cease to exist.
In the west wing of the estate—the private family quarters that had remained locked and abandoned since Alejandro’s wife had passed away five years prior—the heavy oak doors were thrown wide open.
A team of four domestic staff members, supervised directly by a tearful, overwhelming relieved Elena, were hanging pale yellow curtains, laying down plush white sheepskin rugs, and assembling an imported mahogany bedroom set.
In the center of the large, sunlit room stood a brand-new white bed covered in silk sheets and stacked with a dozen oversized plush animals—a giant brown bear, a velvet giraffe, a soft gray elephant, and three brand-new plush rabbits in every color imaginable.
On the nightstand, resting inside a custom-made, temperature-controlled velvet box lined with gold trim, sat six brand-new EpiPens, their bright yellow caps gleaming under the warm lamp light.
Emma sat in the middle of the large bed, wearing a pair of soft pink silk pajamas provided by the estate’s private tailor. She was holding Barnaby—the old, faded rabbit—refusing to swap him for any of the shiny new toys.
A soft knock came at the open door.
Alejandro walked into the room. He had showered, shaved, and changed into a fresh charcoal wool sweater and dark trousers. His throat was wrapped in a light silk scarf to cover the deep red inflammation caused by the poison, but his face had regained its commanding, sharp bronzed color.
Behind him walked Dr. Mercer, a silver-haired physician carrying a leather medical bag.
"How is my patient?" Alejandro asked, his voice still slightly raspy.
Emma sat up straight, clutching Barnaby against her ribs. "I'm not sick, Mr. Moretti."
"I know you aren't, sweetheart," Alejandro said, a genuine, rare smile breaking across his severe features. He gestured to Dr. Mercer. "The doctor is just here to check your wrists where that bastard Marco grabbed you."
Dr. Mercer knelt beside the bed, carefully examining the faint purple bruises on Emma’s small wrist. He applied a cold, soothing herbal ointment and wrapped it in a light silk bandage.
"She’s fine, Alejandro," Dr. Mercer reported, standing up and closing his bag. "Minor bruising. Excellent vitals. No signs of stress-induced respiratory distress."
"Good," Alejandro said. "Leave us."
The doctor bowed his head slightly and stepped out into the hallway, closing the heavy oak door behind him.
Alejandro walked over to the bed and sat down slowly on the edge of the mattress. The heavy wooden frame barely creaked under his massive weight. He looked at the old pink rabbit tucked under Emma's arm.
"He's missing an eye," Alejandro noted softly, pointing a scarred finger at Barnaby.
"He lost it in the washing machine at our old apartment," Emma whispered, her voice tiny in the large room. "Mama tried to sew a button back on, but it fell off in the sink."
Alejandro reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, velvet jeweler’s box. He opened it with a quiet click.
Inside, resting on a bed of black velvet, was a single, flawless, round-cut black diamond, precisely the size of a doll’s eye, mounted to a thin, surgical-grade silver backing with a sharp curved needle.
"I had my jeweler down in the Loop make this an hour ago," Alejandro said gently. "May I?"
Emma’s eyes widened into huge saucers. She looked at the sparkling black gem, then up at Alejandro's dark, serious face. She slowly extended Barnaby toward him.
Alejandro took the worn plush rabbit into his large, rough hands with immense care—handling it as if it were an irreplaceable priceless artifact. With remarkable precision for a man whose hands had held assault rifles and steel garrotes, he worked the silver pin through the fabric of the rabbit's face, securing the black diamond tightly where the left eye had been.
The plush rabbit caught the light of the bedside lamp, the black diamond sparkling with a deep, mesmerizing fire.
Emma gasped, snatching the rabbit back and pressing it against her cheek. "Barnaby has a magic eye!"
"It is a magic eye," Alejandro agreed, his dark eyes softening completely as he looked at her joy. "And as long as he wears that eye, he will watch over you when I am not in the room."
Emma looked around the massive, elegant bedroom with its high ceilings, golden lamps, and mountain of plush toys.
"Mr. Moretti?" she asked quietly.
"Call me Uncle Alejandro, Emma," he replied.
"Uncle Alejandro..." Emma whispered, looking down at her white sneakers resting on the sheepskin rug. "Is Mama still going to be the maid?"
Alejandro stood up, stepping over to the window that overlooked the vast, rain-soaked grounds of his kingdom.
"Your mother is no longer a maid, Emma," Alejandro said, his voice echoing with absolute finality. "She is the director of this household. She will never scrub another floor, she will never wash another dish for anyone in this city, and she will never worry about a medical bill for as long as she lives."
He turned back to face the four-year-old child.
"And you," Alejandro continued, stepping back to the bed and extending his hand toward her. "You are the girl who saved the boss. From this night forward, every man who wears the Moretti crest answers to you."
Emma reached out her tiny, bandaged hand and laid it in his massive, calloused palm.
"Pinky promise?" she asked innocence, extending her tiny pinky finger.
May you like
Alejandro looked down at the tiny finger. He had signed treaties that controlled billions of dollars in international trade, he had made oaths of blood with Sicilian families that lasted generations, but as he hooked his massive, scarred pinky around her tiny, soft one, he knew this was the most sacred contract he would ever make.
"Pinky promise, little one," Alejandro whispered. "To the end of the world."
