Chapter 7 - The Betrayal at Dawn
The peace did not last past sunrise.
At 6:00 AM, the heavy iron gates of the estate buzzed open. Three black sedans roared up the winding gravel drive, spraying wet stone against the manicured hedges.
Inside the mansion, the security alarms didn't ring because the men at the gates had been bought off.
Gianni Ferraro stepped out of the lead vehicle, flanked by four armed enforcers wearing dark tactical jackets. Behind him stepped Frankie Russo, smiling his razor-thin smile, and—stepping out from the passenger seat of the third car with a cold, dead-eyed stare—Aldo Bianchi.
The traitor had returned.
Nadia, who had been in the ground-floor kitchen preparing breakfast, froze when she heard the heavy boots echoing through the stone foyer. She peeked out from the pantry just in time to see Gianni and Aldo marching down the hall toward the west wing stairs, guns drawn.
“Gianni—what is this?” Mrs. Renaldi cried out, shrinking back against the counter.
“Shut your mouth, old woman,” Gianni snapped, his face flushed with the desperate, intoxicating adrenaline of a coup. “Salvatore’s reign is over. We’re taking the ledgers and securing the estate. If he breathes a word, put him down.”
Nadia’s heart hammered against her ribs. Milo.
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The boy was still upstairs. Salvatore was upstairs.
Without thinking, Nadia dropped her dish towel, slipped out the service door, and began sprinting up the hidden spiral service stairs—the old, narrow stone steps used by servants for a century—racing to reach the master suite before the syndicate enforcers did.
