Chapter 5 - Behind Iron Gates
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The armored Lincoln sliced through the wet dusk of suburban Boston, leaving the cramped city blocks far behind.
Inside the passenger compartment, the silence was heavy, broken only by the rhythmic swish of the heavy-duty windshield wipers.
Nancy sat pressed against the passenger door, her hands clutched tightly in her lap, watching the darkened landscape blur past.
Leland sat in the middle of the wide leather bench, nestled securely between his parents.
The boy’s initial fear had given way to toddler curiosity.
He ran his small hands across the buttery leather seats, fascinated by the glowing buttons on the center console.
Anias sat on the right, his arm resting protectively along the back of the seat behind Nancy and Leland.
His gaze never drifted far from his son.
Every slight breath the child took seemed to send tremors through Anias’s soul.
Five years of stolen birthdays.
Five years of missed first steps, first words, and nighttime bedtime stories.
Every single second of that stolen life weighed on Anias like lead chains.
The vehicle turned off the winding country road and approached a pair of massive wrought-iron gates set into ten-foot stone walls.
Two armed guards in black tactical gear emerged from the gatehouse, their rifles lowered as they recognized the don’s vehicle.
The heavy gates swung inward with a low mechanical groan.
As the car climbed the long, tree-lined driveway, the Moretti estate came into view beneath the glow of estate floodlights.
It was an imposing limestone manor surrounded by manicured grounds and bristling with high-end security cameras.
Leland let out a soft gasp, pressing his nose against the tinted window.
“Look, Mama, it’s a castle!” the boy exclaimed, pointing at the towering stone pillars.
Nancy swallowed hard, her throat dry with bitter memories.
She had visited this estate only once before their marriage collapsed, back when Anias’s father was still breathing and the shadows were less suffocating.
“It’s not a castle, sweetheart,” Nancy whispered softly.
“It’s just a house.”
“It is your home,” Anias corrected gently, his eyes meeting Nancy’s in the rearview mirror.
“Both of yours, for as long as you draw breath.”
The Lincoln came to a smooth halt beneath the covered portico.
Carmine opened the rear door, extending an umbrella to shield them from the lingering drizzle.
Anias climbed out first, turning immediately to lift Leland out of the seat with practiced, instinctive care.
He offered his other hand to Nancy.
She stared at his outstretched palm—large, scarred across the knuckles, capable of unspeakable violence, yet trembling as he waited for her touch.
She hesitated for a long second before placing her cold, trembling fingers into his grasp.
Anias closed his fingers around hers with a reverent gentleness, helping her step onto the dry stone of the portico.
Carmine stepped up beside Anias, speaking in a low voice that didn't carry to the child.
“The house is on complete lockdown, Don Anias.”
“The perimeter sensors are active, and our best tactical unit is patrolling the woods.”
“What do you want me to do about Mateo?”
Anias carried Leland close to his chest, the boy’s head resting securely on his broad shoulder.
“Find out where he is having dinner tonight,” Anias said, his voice dropping into a register colder than winter ice.
“And track down Dr. Vance, the man who signed those clinic papers five years ago.”
“Bring Vance to the cellar at South Boston by sunrise.”
“Understood, Boss,” Carmine replied, nodding sharply.
May you like
Anias turned toward the heavy mahogany front doors of the estate, stepping into the warm, chandelier-lit foyer with his family.
He had retrieved his lost son from the ashes of deception, and the reckoning for those who lit the fire was about to begin.
