Chapter 3
At the far end of the sprawling, brightly lit garage, standing near a row of armored SUVs, was Carmine Bellucci.
At fifty-one years old, the head of the Bellucci family was a man of terrifying, deeply masculine power. He possessed the rugged, intimidating aura of a veteran Mafia boss. He was impeccably dressed in a tailored dark three-piece suit, a crisp white dress shirt, a heavy family signet ring, a luxury wristwatch, and polished leather shoes. His fair, rosy skin was weathered by years of violence and command.
He was currently speaking with two heavily armed bodyguards, white American adult men wearing professional dark suits, discussing the security perimeter of the massive estate.
"The eastern gates need reinforced patrols," Carmine instructed, his voice a low, measured rumble. Every sentence he spoke sounded measured, cold, and inherently dangerous. "The Chicago outfit has been testing our borders. I want eyes on every vehicle that passes."
"Understood, Boss," the lead bodyguard replied, nodding sharply. "We will double the shifts starting tonight."
Carmine was about to continue when a sound cut through the ambient noise of the estate. It was a high, desperate wail.
“Dad… I haven’t eaten since yesterday!”
Carmine stopped dead mid-sentence. The cold, intimidating eyes of the Mafia boss instantly snapped toward the far side of the garage. Through the bright, vivid colors of the luxury vehicles, he saw the shattered plate, the spilled food, and his three-year-old son kneeling in a puddle of freezing water, wearing filthy, torn clothes. And standing over him was his cousin, Helena.
The air around Carmine seemed to instantly drop by twenty degrees.
"Boss?" the bodyguard asked, noticing the sudden, terrifying stillness that had overtaken his leader.
Carmine did not answer. He didn't need to. He moved with a slow, predatory, and explosive grace, his polished leather shoes striking the concrete with a heavy, deliberate rhythm. The two bodyguards immediately fell into step right behind him, recognizing that the situation had just escalated into something catastrophic.
"What do you think you are doing, Helena?" Carmine's deep voice echoed across the garage, cutting through the bright, cinematic light like a serrated blade.
Helena spun around, her haughty expression faltering for only a fraction of a second before she masked it with arrogant confidence. She truly believed her status as elder blood protected her from his wrath.
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"Carmine, darling," Helena smiled tightly. "I am simply teaching your boy some discipline. He lacks structure."
Carmine did not look at her. His eyes were locked entirely on his weeping, shivering son.
