Chapter 5 - Justice Restored
The carriage house sat at the far southern edge of the estate, surrounded by a wall of wild bougainvillea. When Alessandro approached the door, the morning sun was high enough to cast long, golden shadows across the stone pathway.
He knocked once, a soft, rhythmic tap.
The door opened slowly. Elena stood there, her eyes red from crying, her hair tied back in a hasty knot. She was holding a worn leather suitcase in one hand and her daughter’s hand in the other. When she saw Alessandro, she gasped, dropping the bag. It hit the floor with a heavy thud, spilling out a few simple clothes and a plastic doll.
“Signor Alessandro,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I didn't take it. I swear to you on the memory of your mother. I have never taken a single euro from this house.”
Alessandro stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He knelt down, just as he had six months ago in his study.
Emma was standing behind her mother’s skirt, her large, dark eyes fixed on him. In her small right hand, she clutched the heavy silver wolf ring.
“I told you I would come, Emma,” Alessandro said gently.
The little girl let go of her mother’s skirt and ran into his arms, burying her face in his shoulder. Alessandro lifted her up, his powerful frame contrasting sharply with her small, fragile body. He looked at Elena, his expression softening for the first time in twenty-four hours.
“I know you didn't take it, Elena,” he said. “Marco has been removed from the estate. The bracelet is back in the safe. Your quarters are being cleaned. You are not leaving.”
Elena sank onto the small wooden chair by the table, her hands covering her face as the tension of the night finally broke into quiet, relieved tears. “He said... he said the police would take Emma away from me. He had two men with guns outside the window all night.”
“The men are gone,” Alessandro said. “They won't be returning to Sicily. You are safe here. This house belongs to the Morettis, and you are part of this house.”
He set Emma down on the table, looking at the silver ring she still held tightly. He took it from her fingers and slipped it back onto his own pinky finger, where it belonged.
“You used it well,” he told her. “But next time you build a castle, make sure the guards are loyal.”
“I’ll use stone next time,” she said, wiping a stray tear from her cheek with the back of her hand. “Not brass.”
Alessandro stood up and turned to Elena. “Take the day off. Take Emma to the beach in Taormina. Pietro will drive you. When you return, everything will be back to normal.”
He left the carriage house and walked back toward the main villa. The air was warm now, the Sicilian sun burning off the last of the morning mist. Matteo was waiting for him on the terrace, holding a fresh cup of espresso and a secure satellite phone.
“Volkov is on the line, sir,” Matteo said, extending the phone. “He managed to hold the Germans until noon. He wants to know if the contract is still valid, or if he should book a flight back to St. Petersburg.”
Alessandro took the phone and placed it to his ear.
“Victor,” Alessandro said, his voice firm and steady as he looked out over his secure, clean estate. “Tell the Russians to get their pens ready. I’ll be back in Milan by midnight. But the price just went up ten percent.”
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“Why?” Volkov’s voice crackled through the line, sounding relieved but frustrated.
“Because,” Alessandro said, looking down at the wolf ring on his hand, “maintaining a fortress is expensive. And I have a castle to rebuild.”
