Chapter 2 - THE WOLF OF THE EAST RIVER
The rain outside the cottage grew into a violent storm, lashing against the glass panes like handfuls of gravel.
Alessandro remained kneeling beside the narrow iron bed for a full three minutes. He didn't move. He didn't blink. The man whom every prosecutor in the tristate area feared as a ruthless, calculating syndicate boss knelt in the dirt and shadow, staring down at the woman who had trusted his fortress to keep her safe—and found out too late that fortresses only keep the outside world away after the wolf is already inside.
When the heavy front door of the cottage creaked open, Marco stepped into the hallway, followed closely by Dr. Vance carrying his black bag.
Marco stopped at the threshold of the bedroom. One look at Alessandro’s back—stiff, motionless, radiating a cold, crushing weight—told him everything he needed to know.
"Boss," Marco said quietly, his voice heavy. "The doctor is here. And... we have a situation at the main gates."
Alessandro stood up slowly. His movements were mechanical, terrifyingly precise. He turned around, his face completely devoid of color, his dark eyes burning with an ancient, unyielding fury.
"What kind of situation, Marco?"
"A black sedan," Marco replied, his hand resting on his gun. "Parked fifty yards down the hill. No plates. Two men inside watching the east wing. They didn't run when our patrol car swept past. They wanted us to see them."
Dr. Vance pushed past Marco, stepping up to the bed. He checked Sophia’s pulse, shone a penlight into her unreacting eyes, and slowly pulled the cotton sheet up over her face. He looked at Alessandro, shaking his head with a grim, sorrowful expression.
"Acute cardiac arrest induced by a massive overdose of digitalis and barbiturates," the doctor said softly. "She’s been gone for less than ten minutes. It wasn't suicide, Alessandro. Someone forced her to swallow it, or threatened her until she took it herself."
Alessandro walked past them, stepping out of the bedroom and into the small living area.
"Marco," Alessandro said, his voice dropping an octave into a register that made the seasoned enforcer’s blood run cold. "Take twelve men from the inner perimeter. I want every inch of the perimeter wall swept. Find out who cut the security sensors on the east path. Find out who let those men park down the hill."
"And the child?" Marco asked, hesitating. "Emma is in the main kitchen right now with Mrs. Higgins. She's eating soup. She keeps asking when her mother is coming back."
Alessandro stopped walking. The name Emma echoed in his mind, tied to those red, raw hands scrubbing his shirt in the laundry room sink. A three-year-old orphan, completely unaware that her entire world had just been erased in a dark room twenty yards away.
"She stays," Alessandro commanded, turning to face his enforcer. "She stays in the master suite on the third floor. Double the guard outside the door. If a fly gets within ten feet of that child without my express permission, you feed it to the river."
"Understood, Boss," Marco nodded firmly.
"And Marco?"
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"Yes?"
"Get the car. We are going to visit our dear cousin, Vincent Vance, at the docks."
