Chapter 4 - The Traitor's Footsteps
The room was deathly quiet save for the soft sound of the wind blowing against the study windows.
Marcus and the two armed guards standing near the door looked away, wiping their own eyes in deep respect. They had served Adrian Moretti for over a decade. They had seen him face rival syndicates, survive gun battles, and handle millions of dollars without shedding a single tear.
Seeing New York’s most feared man kneeling on a rug crying over a stuffed rabbit handed to him by a four-year-old girl was a moment none of them would ever forget.
Adrian took a deep, shivering breath, wiped his face with the back of his sleeve, and gently handed the stuffed rabbit back to Emma.
“Thank you, Emma,” Adrian whispered, his voice thick with raw emotion. “Thank you.”
He stood up slowly, turning to face his second-in-command.
“Marcus.”
“Yes, Boss?”
“Call Dr. Evans back inside. I want a medical transport van dispatched to the nearest pharmaceutical distributor immediately. I want twenty cases of Emma’s exact epinephrine brand delivered to this estate by tonight.”
Sophie’s eyes went wide with shock. “Mr. Moretti—twenty cases?! That costs thousands of dollars!”
Adrian looked at Sophie, his expression transforming into something unshakeable and absolute.
“Your daughter gave me her life today, Ms. Carter,” Adrian said firmly. “From this second forward, she will never want for medicine, safety, or anything else in this world for as long as I draw breath.”
He turned back to Marcus, his eyes darkening into pure, lethal ice.
“Now tell me who poured that wine.”
Marcus’s face hardened. “The bottle was brought up from the private cellar twenty minutes before your meeting, Boss. The house servant who brought it up said Julian Vance requested that specific vintage.”
Adrian’s jaw tightened so hard a muscle twitched along his cheekbone.
“Julian,” Adrian murmured, the name tasting like lead on his tongue.
Julian Vance had been his father’s tax accountant. He had managed the Moretti family’s legal and illegal financial portfolios for fifteen years. He had sat at Adrian’s dinner table, attended Isabella’s funeral, and held little Claire on his knee when she was a baby.
“We ran a trace on Julian’s cell phone location,” Marcus reported, stepping closer to the desk. “His car left the estate gates five minutes after he left your study. He’s currently heading toward the private airfield in Teterboro, New Jersey. He has a charter jet scheduled to depart for Dubai at four o'clock.”
Adrian looked at his watch. It was 2:15 PM.
“He didn't act alone,” Adrian said coldly. “A man like Julian doesn't poison a crime boss without a buyer lined up to take over the territory.”
“The Russian syndicate out of Brighton Beach,” Marcus suggested softly. “Dmitri Volkov has been trying to take over our harbor freight contracts for two years.”
Adrian walked over to his wall safe, punched in a six-digit code, and swung the heavy steel door open.
He reached inside and pulled out a leather-bound journal—Isabella’s private diary from three years ago, which had been recovered from the burnt wreckage of the car.
He flipped open the back cover, revealing a small, encrypted flash drive taped to the leather lining.
“Three years ago, when the bomb killed my wife and daughter,” Adrian said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, terrifying register, “the police said it was a remote detonator triggered from a street corner. But Isabella had written a note in her diary the night before.”
He looked at Marcus.
“She wrote that Julian had asked her for the master security codes to the vehicle’s GPS tracking system, claiming he needed them for insurance updates.”
Marcus gasped softly, horror washing over his face. “Boss... you think Julian set up the car bomb three years ago?!”
“Julian didn't just try to poison me today,” Adrian whispered, his dark eyes burning with an apocalyptic rage. “He murdered my family three years ago so he could slowly sell off our assets to Volkov while I was paralyzed by grief.”
Sophie pulled Emma closer to her side, sensing the terrifying shift in the room's energy.
Adrian noticed her fear and instantly checked his aura, turning back toward the mother and child with gentleness.
“Marcus, escort Ms. Carter and Emma to the master guest suite on the third floor,” Adrian ordered smoothly. “Put six men on their door. Ensure they are served lunch and anything else they desire.”
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“Mr. Moretti,” Sophie said softly, looking into his eyes. “Please be careful.”
Adrian offered her a small, respectful bow of his head. “No one will ever hurt you or your daughter again, Sophie. You have my word as a Moretti.”
