Chapter 4 - Eyes in the Dark
By 2:00 a.m., the Bellini estate was under full military-grade lockdown.
Floodlights swept across the manicured lawns. Razor wire was raised along the outer stone walls, and armed patrols with trained Belgian Malinois circled the perimeter every fifteen minutes. Down in the ballroom, the guests had finally been vetted and dismissed under strict non-disclosure warnings.
In the master suite on the third floor, silence reigned.
Sofia stood near the window, looking out over the dark expanse of Long Island Sound. She was still wearing her black maid’s uniform, though she had discarded the white apron. Her muscles ached, and her shoulder throbbed where Vivian had shoved her.
Behind her, Marco sat on the edge of a leather sofa, his dark glasses sitting on the coffee table.
His left eye was shut tight, his forehead creased with pain. The stress of the evening had triggered a violent ocular migraine.
“There’s a small bottle of saline solution and steroid drops in the medicine cabinet,” Marco said, his voice strained. “Bring them.”
Sofia moved into the adjoining marble bathroom, retrieved the prescribed medications, and returned. She knelt beside the sofa.
“Tilt your head back,” she said softly.
Marco hesitated for a fraction of a second. Vulnerability did not come naturally to a man who commanded hundreds of hardened killers. But he tilted his head back against the leather cushion.
Sofia uncapped the bottle. Her hands were surprisingly steady now. Gently, using the pad of her thumb, she held his lower eyelid down.
“This might sting,” she whispered.
She administered two drops. Marco hissed through clenched teeth, his hands gripping his knees so hard the fabric strained.
Sofia didn't pull away. Instead, she took a clean linen cloth, dampened it with cold water from the pitcher on the table, and gently pressed it against his temple and cheekbone, easing the swelling around the surgical incision.
Marco let out a slow, ragged exhale. The tension in his broad shoulders began to loosen.
“You have steady hands,” he murmured, his eyes still closed.
“You get used to delicate work when you grow up fixing timepieces,” she replied, keeping the cloth in place.
Marco remained quiet for a moment, listening to the rain that had begun to tap lightly against the tall glass windows. “Why did your father leave the watchmaking trade?”
Sofia’s hand stilled slightly. “He didn't leave it. He died.”
Marco’s right eye cracked open, looking up at her. “How?”
“An explosion in an auto garage in Brooklyn,” Sofia said, her voice turning quiet, tinged with old sorrow. “Five years ago. The police said it was an accident—a faulty gas line. But my father worked on specialized cars. Armored vehicles. He knew safety protocols better than anyone.”
Marco’s expression sharpened. “What garage?”
“Crestview Motors on 4th Avenue.”
Marco went utterly rigid.
Sofia noticed the change instantly. “What is it?”
“Crestview Motors was Dominic’s shell company,” Marco said, his voice dropping into an icy register. “They serviced our fleet before I took full control of the territory.”
Sofia stared at him, the damp cloth slipping slightly in her fingers. “Dominic?”
“Dominic used that garage to smuggle untraceable weapons into Manhattan,” Marco revealed, sitting up straight. “In 2019, an audit was ordered. A week before the federal inspectors arrived, the garage blew up. Dominic claimed it was an industrial accident. All the records were destroyed.”
Tears burned at the corners of Sofia’s eyes, but she forced them back, replaced by a cold, burning realization. “My father didn't die in an accident. He was murdered to cover a paper trail.”
Marco reached out, his hand closing over her wrist—firm, warm, and protective. “Your father was an innocent caught in my family’s rot. Dominic took him from you.”
“And now Dominic is out there,” Sofia whispered, looking toward the dark window.
“Not for long,” Marco replied. “Luca found the launch Dominic used. He abandoned it three miles down the coast near an old industrial marina. The Morettis have a safehouse there.”
Suddenly, the lights in the master suite flickered once, twice, and died.
Emergency red backup lights clicked on, bathing the opulent bedroom in an eerie, bloody glow.
Marco was on his feet in an instant, his Beretta clearing its holster before Sofia could even gasp.
A high-pitched chime sounded from the security console near the bed. Marco tapped the screen with the back of his hand.
Luca’s voice blared through the speaker, breathless and strained over the sound of automatic gunfire: “Boss! They cut the main grid at the substation! We’ve got perimeter breaches on the north lawn! Dominic didn't flee—he brought Moretti's hit team back for a counter-strike!”
Marco didn't panic. He grabbed Sofia’s hand, pulling her behind the heavy mahogany desk.
“Stay down,” he commanded.
“Marco, the balcony doors,” Sofia whispered urgently, pointing across the room.
May you like
Through the sheer curtains, the dark outline of a man in tactical gear was already visible on the terrace, raising a suppressed carbine toward the glass.
***
