Chapter 3 - The Protector’s Shadow
By sunrise, the entire household was in an uproar, though the details of the assassination attempt were kept tightly sealed within the inner circle of the Moretti syndicate.
Mama—whose real name was Clara—was summoned to Alejandro’s private study early that morning. She had been scrubbing the ground-floor corridors when Rocco intercepted her, her face pale with terror, convinced her four-year-old daughter had somehow broken a priceless artifact or angered the most dangerous man in the city.
I sat outside the double doors on a velvet bench, swinging my legs while clutching my stuffed rabbit, waiting while Mama was inside.
Inside the study, Alejandro sat behind his polished mahogany desk. A steaming cup of black coffee sat untouched beside a thick dossier detailing Luca’s financial ties to a rival syndicate in Sicily.
“Clara,” Alejandro said, his voice deep and measured. “Sit down.”
Mama perched nervously on the edge of the leather armchair, her hands tightly gripping her worn cloth apron. “Mr. Moretti, please... whatever Emma did, she’s only four years old. She doesn't understand—if she broke something, I can work off the debt, I can take extra shifts—please don't fire us, we have nowhere else to go—”
“Clara,” Alejandro interrupted, raising a single hand. “Look at me.”
Mama swallowed hard and looked up.
“Your daughter didn't break anything,” Alejandro said quietly. “Last night, someone inside this mansion tried to murder me. They poisoned my wine. If Emma hadn't walked in with her quick thinking—and the exact medical device you taught her to use—I would be dead in a morgue right now.”
Mama froze. Her breath caught in her throat, her eyes widening in absolute disbelief. “Poisoned...?”
“Luca,” Alejandro nodded grimly. “He’s currently regretting every life choice he ever made down in the sub-basement. But that’s not why I called you in here.”
Alejandro slid a thick, white envelope across the mahogany desk toward her. Inside, even from a distance, Mama could see the neat stacks of crisp hundred-dollar bills, accompanied by a new, formalized employment contract bearing the Moretti family crest.
“From today forward,” Alejandro stated, leaning back in his leather chair, “you are no longer a cleaning maid. You are the head of household operations for this estate. Your salary is quadrupled. Your health insurance—including full pediatric coverage for Emma’s allergies—is covered indefinitely. And Emma... Emma will be provided with the finest private education money can buy when she reaches school age.”
Mama stared at the envelope, tears instantly spilling over her lower eyelids. She shook her head slowly, her voice trembling. “Mr. Moretti... I can't accept this. It’s too much. We just work here—”
“You don't just work here anymore, Clara,” Alejandro cut her off gently, though his eyes carried the weight of absolute command. “You are under the direct protection of the Moretti family. Anyone who crosses you, crosses me. And as for Emma...”
The heavy oak doors swung open, and Alejandro gestured for me to come inside. I hopped off the velvet bench and trotted into the room, clutching my stuffed rabbit.
May you like
Alejandro looked down at me, a faint, rare ghost of a smile touching the corners of his mouth.
“Come here, little savior,” he murmured, pulling a small, beautifully wrapped velvet box out from his desk drawer. He popped it open to reveal a delicate silver charm bracelet featuring a tiny, intricately carved silver EpiPen pendant alongside a small diamond-encrusted rabbit. “A token of appreciation. Never let anyone tell you that you’re too small to change the world, Emma.”
