Chapter 5 - The Wrath of the Boss
The silence in the grand foyer was absolute, heavy with impending doom.
Alessandro Moretti stood frozen at the threshold, his dark eyes locked onto his mother, who still held the heavy silver cane raised slightly in the air. He looked past her to Bianca, whose triumphant smirk instantly drained away, replaced by a sudden, choking wave of terror.
And then Alessandro’s gaze dropped to the floor.
He saw Elena. He saw the blood pooling near her knees. He saw the way her small, trembling hand remained locked over her swollen stomach, shielding the life growing inside her from the violence of his own bloodline.
In three long, terrifying strides, Alessandro crossed the marble floor.
He didn't look at his mother. He didn't look at his sister. He dropped to one knee beside Elena, his massive frame shielding her from the rest of the room. His large, calloused hand hovered over her shoulder, hesitant for a fraction of a second before gently, impossibly tenderly, touching her arm.
"Elena," he murmured, his voice cracking with a raw, buried anguish that no one in this house had ever heard from him before. "Look at me."
Elena slowly raised her head, her eyes wide with fear and pain, the split lip bleeding onto her chin. "Mr... Mr. Moretti..."
Alessandro stood up slowly.
When he turned around to face his family, the temperature in the room seemed to drop twenty degrees. His face was a mask of cold, lethal fury—the face of a mafia boss who had just discovered that his own household had betrayed him in the most cowardly, unforgivable way imaginable.
"Who touched her?" Alessandro asked again, his voice dangerously low, vibrating with suppressed violence.
Signora Moretti straightened her posture, attempting to regain her composure through sheer aristocratic willpower. "Alessandro, do not take that tone with me. This... creature brought shame upon this house. She is carrying a bastard child of unknown origin beneath our roof, behaving with insolence—"
"I asked," Alessandro interrupted, his voice cutting through her words like a razor blade, "who touched her."
"We did what was necessary!" Bianca shouted, her voice cracking with rising panic. "She’s just a servant, Alessandro! Why are you looking at us like that? She doesn't belong here!"
Alessandro took a slow, deliberate step toward his sister.
Richard Hale, his chief of security who had entered right behind him, instantly stepped forward to block the exits, his hand resting casually inside his jacket near his holster, ensuring no one left the room.
"A servant," Alessandro repeated, the word tasting like poison on his tongue. "You strike a pregnant woman in my home. You shed blood on my floor."
"She’s nobody!" Signora Moretti insisted, striking her cane against the marble. "A nobody from the streets whom you inexplicably allowed to linger in the west wing!"
Alessandro stopped dead in his tracks. A cold, humorless smile touched the corner of his mouth—a smile that made even his own mother step back in dread.
"Nobody," Alessandro whispered. He turned back toward Elena, who was struggling to pull herself up from the floor. Without a word of hesitation, Alessandro bent down, scooped Elena effortlessly into his arms, and carried her past his stunned family toward the private elevator leading up to the master wing.
May you like
Before the doors closed, he looked back at his mother and sister one last time.
"Pack your bags," Alessandro commanded quietly. "By midnight, you will both be out of this house. And if she loses that child... you won't just be homeless. You'll be praying for a quick death."
