Chapter 3 - THE TRAP AT THE EASTERN GATES
Ten minutes later, I had forced my shaking legs to carry me out of bed. I pulled on a dark wool overcoat over my silk pajamas, leaning heavily on an antique mahogany cane as I stepped out into the dimly lit hallway of the west wing.
Downstairs, the heavy oak doors of the grand foyer swung open, and the unmistakable sound of hurried footsteps echoed across the marble floor.
“Where is she?” a cold, smooth voice rang out.
Aldo Manfredi.
I paused at the top of the grand staircase, resting my hand against the wrought-iron banister. Below me, Aldo stood in the center of the foyer, flanked by three of my personal security guards whom I now recognized as his mercenaries. In the corner, pale and trembling, stood Elena Marchetti, her hands clasped tightly over her mouth, while little Giulia clutched the hem of her apron.
“She’s hiding something, Mr. Manfredi,” one of the guards said, stepping toward Elena. “The kid was missing from the laundry room for twenty minutes. She went upstairs.”
Aldo stepped forward, his face twisting into a mask of cruel impatience. He walked up the first few steps of the grand staircase, looking up toward the shadows where I stood.
“Elena,” Aldo called out, his voice dripping with condescending false sweetness. “You really should teach your brat better manners. Wandering into the master suite is a dangerous game. Especially when the master is... indisposed.”
I didn't answer right away. I let the heavy silence stretch across the foyer.
Then, leaning on my cane, I took a slow, deliberate step forward into the light of the crystal chandelier overhead.
Aldo froze. His foot hovered over the second step. The color drained entirely from his face, leaving him looking like a ghost in a bespoke Italian suit. He stared at me as if he were looking at a corpse walking out of a tomb.
“D-Dario,” Aldo stammered, his polished composure shattering in a single instant. “You... you should be in bed. The doctors said—”
“The doctors were reading from a script you paid them to write, Aldo,” I interrupted. My voice echoed off the marble walls, cold, resonant, and carrying the absolute authority of a man who owned the city.
Aldo’s eyes darted frantically toward the three guards behind him. “He’s delirious! The fever has broken his mind! Secure him!”
None of the guards moved.
Because at that exact second, the heavy iron front doors of the mansion blasted open.
A dozen tactical operatives in matte-black gear, led by Vance, poured into the foyer with assault rifles raised, sweeping the room in a fraction of a second. The three mercenaries hired by Aldo found themselves staring down the barrel of superior firepower before they could even reach their holsters.
“Drop your weapons!” Vance roared.
The weapons hit the marble floor with a series of heavy, echoing clatters.
May you like
Aldo backed up a step, his hands trembling as he looked around the room, realizing the trap had sprung entirely around him. “Dario—wait. We can talk about this. We’re partners. Twenty years—”
“Twenty years,” I repeated quietly, descending the stairs one slow, agonizing step at a time until I stood face-to-face with the man who had tried to murder me in my sleep. “And you couldn't even wait for natural causes to take me. You were impatient, Aldo. That was always your flaw.”
