Chapter 7 - The Guest House and the Storm
The guest house at the rear of the Blackstone estate was larger than any building Delia had ever lived in. Built from rich oak timber and warm river stone, it overlooked a snow-covered garden surrounded by high, fortified walls. Inside, a fire was already burning in the stone hearth, casting a golden glow over leather armchairs, thick wool rugs, and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.
For the first two days, Delia felt like an imposter.
She kept waiting for someone to wake her up, to tell her that the nightmare wasn't over, that she still had to report to the casino basement at eleven at night to scrub vomit and spilled beer off concrete floors. But every morning, she woke up to the smell of fresh coffee prepared by the house staff, the sight of heat rising from radiators, and the sound of Owen laughing in the yard as he played in the snow with Barnaby.
The golden retriever had taken an instant, absolute liking to the boy. Wherever Owen went, the old dog followed, his limping gait slow but steady, acting as a gentle, furry bodyguard.
On the third evening, a heavy snow fell again, blanketing the estate in quiet solitude. Delia sat by the window in the main house's library, reviewing floor plans and inventory sheets for her new role at the Houseian Casino. Salvatore sat across the room at a large mahogany desk, signing papers with a silver fountain pen.
"You're working late," Salvatore observed without looking up from his files.
"I like to be prepared," Delia replied, adjusting her glasses—a new pair she had finally been able to buy. "If I'm taking over the environmental staff, I need to know where the security vulnerabilities were. The man you fired... he was turning off the basement cameras at two in the morning every Tuesday."
Salvatore stopped writing. He looked up, his blue eyes sharp with interest. "Is that so?"
"Yes," Delia said, walking over to his desk and laying out a printout of the cleaning logs. "Look here. The janitorial sign-in sheets don't match the card access logs for the service elevator. Someone was moving heavy crates out of the vault level while the third-floor sweepers were forced to take their breaks."
Salvatore leaned back in his chair, studying the paper, then studying her. A subtle, admiring smile touched his lips. "You have a sharp eye, Delia. Most people just see mops and buckets."
"When you spend seven years cleaning up after other people, you learn to notice what they try to hide," she said simply. "Moretti wasn't just stealing cash from the casino tables. He was using the basement supply lines to move illegal weapons through your property."
Salvatore’s smile vanished, replaced by a dark, deadly seriousness. "He was using my casino to traffic weapons?"
"Yes," Delia said quietly. "And according to these schedules, the next shipment is scheduled for tomorrow night at midnight."
Salvatore stared at the document for a long moment. Then he slowly stood up, walking toward the grand glass windows that looked out over the snowy estate.
"Moretti thinks I am an old man past his prime," Salvatore murmured, his voice cold and smooth as polished ice. "He thinks because I grieved my family, I lost my edge. He used my dog to distract me, used my casino to enrich himself, and tried to intimidate a mother on my doorstep."
He turned back to face Delia. "Tomorrow night, Dominic Moretti comes to the Houseian Casino to oversee his shipment personally. He believes the building is compromised in his favor."
"What are you going to do?" Delia asked, a sudden chill running down her spine.
"I am going to end this war," Salvatore said plainly. "And I am going to make sure that you and your son never have to look over your shoulder again."
He stepped closer to her, stopping just inches away. The sheer presence of the man was overwhelming, but Delia no longer felt afraid of him. She saw the protector behind the monster, the father behind the mob boss.
"Delia," Salvatore said softly, reaching out to touch the side of her arm gently. "Tomorrow night will be dangerous. I want you and Owen to stay here, behind these gates, where my best men will guard you."
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Delia looked him dead in the eye, her jaw set with an iron determination that mirrored his own.
"No," she said firmly. "I know that basement better than any of your men. I know every door, every hidden pipe, and every broken camera. If you're walking into that trap, Salvatore... you're not walking alone."
