Chapter 17
The infiltration of the safe house was a masterclass in silent, surgical violence. Alessandro’s tactical operators poured through the breached doors like shadows, systematically disarming and neutralizing the Moretti guards with terrifying efficiency.
Alessandro strode through the chaos, his masculine presence dominating the dimly lit corridors. He did not rush. He walked with the slow, deliberate pace of an executioner. The bright red laser sights of his men's weapons painted the walls, cutting through the settling smoke.
He stepped into the main living room. Dante and four heavily armed guards fanned out, instantly aiming their rifles at Don Moretti and the weeping Bianca.
"Nobody moves," Alessandro commanded, his volume incredibly low, yet it commanded absolute, paralyzing obedience.
Don Moretti slowly raised his hands, his rosy skin slick with panicked sweat. "Alessandro, please! Listen to me! I had no knowledge of the dock strike! She acted entirely on her own! She stole the funds from her trust!"
"I am aware," Alessandro replied smoothly, stopping just feet away from the trembling Mafia boss. "If I believed you had given the order, Moretti, you would already be dead. I am here for her."
He shifted his cold, sharp eyes toward Bianca. She was huddled on the floor behind the sofa, her luxurious dress stained with dust, weeping hysterically.
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"Alessandro, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" Bianca begged, her American accent breaking into pathetic, desperate gasps. "I was just angry! I'll pay you back! I'll pay for the warehouse!"
"You cannot afford the price of my patience," Alessandro whispered, his voice a freezing void. He looked back at Don Moretti. "Your daughter or your empire, Moretti. Choose right now."
