Chapter 6 - THE SHADOW OF ALBERTO BELLINI
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Dawn broke over Lake Michigan in cold shades of bruised purple and pale gold.
The third-floor terrace was bathed in a chilly autumn breeze, but inside the master suite, the air was warm and smelled of lavender and fresh-brewed coffee.
At seven in the morning, Dr. Rossi arrived with two private nurses and a mobile laboratory kit.
Dr. Rossi was an elderly gentleman with silver hair and kind, intelligent eyes, who had served as the Moretti family physician for thirty years.
He greeted Maisie with a cheerful smile, pulling a small silver stethoscope from his leather bag and letting her listen to her own heartbeat.
Maisie giggled, completely charmed by the doctor, her previous night’s terror forgotten in the sunlight.
With gentle efficiency, Dr. Rossi performed a quick, painless cheek swab on Maisie, followed by a blood draw from Dominic’s forearm.
“The expedited centrifugal sequencer will have the molecular markers verified by ten-fifteen, Don Dominic,” Dr. Rossi reported, packing his sterile vials into a chilled metal container.
“The results will be certified under federal judicial seals.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Dominic replied, rolling down the sleeve of his fresh white dress shirt.
“Have Marco deliver three certified copies directly to Don Falcone at the Drake.”
As Dr. Rossi exited the suite, four female stylists and two personal shoppers entered, carrying heavy garment bags of high-end couture.
They had been summoned by Dominic at five in the morning from the luxury boutiques along the Magnificent Mile.
Racks of silk blouses, tailored wool trousers, and cashmere coats were rolled into the vast dressing room.
For Maisie, there were warm velvet dresses, soft leather boots, and a dozen colorful hair ribbons.
I stood in the center of the dressing room, overwhelmed by the sheer scale of the transformation.
“Dominic, this is unnecessary,” I protested, looking at a stunning emerald-green silk dress hanging on the center rack.
“I have decent clothes in my apartment.”
Dominic walked into the dressing room, already wearing his dark charcoal bespoke suit and polished leather shoes.
He looked at the emerald dress, then looked at me, a subtle, appreciative gleam in his dark eyes.
“Your apartment on California Avenue was firebombed forty minutes ago, Claire,” Dominic said quietly.
The room seemed to spin violently beneath my feet.
I grabbed the edge of the wardrobe rack to steady myself, my knuckles turning white.
“Firebombed?” I whispered, horror choking my throat.
“Two incendiary devices were thrown through your living-room window from a moving black sedan,” Dominic explained, his voice entirely devoid of emotion, though his jaw muscles bunched with cold fury.
“My perimeter team intercepted the vehicle two blocks away.”
“The shooters carried Bellini syndicate credentials.”
Tears of pure shock blurred my vision.
My small living room.
The hand-me-down sofa where Maisie and I read storybooks every evening.
The tiny kitchen where I baked her birthday cupcakes.
All of it was ash.
If Dominic had not forced us to stay at the estate last night, Maisie and I would have been burned alive in our beds.
Dominic stepped forward, his strong arms wrapping around me, pulling me securely against his chest.
I buried my face into his shoulder, trembling with the delayed shock of how close we had come to death.
“They are monsters, Dominic,” I sobbed against his lapel.
“They tried to murder a four-year-old child.”
“Alberto Bellini believes he can intimidate me by burning empty walls,” Dominic murmured, his hand gently stroking my hair.
“He thinks he is dealing with a businessman who calculates profit and loss.”
“He is about to find out that when someone threatens my family, I do not calculate.”
“I exterminate.”
He pulled back slightly, his thumbs wiping the moisture from beneath my eyes.
“Put on the emerald dress, Claire.”
May you like
“Hold your head high.”
“Today, we show the five families of Chicago that the Moretti dynasty does not bow to terrorists.”
