Chapter 5 - THE THREAT FROM RED HOOK
Three days passed.
The tension inside the mansion continued to thaw. Adrian began spending an hour in the nursery every morning before his business calls. The house had resumed a steady, civilized rhythm, driven largely by Hannah's quiet presence and her daily baking, which had now become an unwritten ritual for the entire estate security force.
However, outside the iron gates of Long Island, the storm was gathering.
At midnight on Thursday, a convoy of dark vehicles pulled up the private drive. Frank "Grizzly" Moretti, the ruthless underboss of the rival Moretti crime syndicate, had called an emergency meeting with Adrian regarding control of the container docks in South Brooklyn.
Adrian sat at the head of the massive mahogany dining table in the west wing. Four of his top lieutenants stood behind him, their expressions grim.
Frank Moretti, a thick-necked man in his late fifties with a scar running across his left jawline, leaned back in his chair, chewing on an unlit cigar.
"You've been soft, Vale," Moretti sneered, leaning forward and resting his broad elbows on the polished wood. "Your wife dies, and you vanish into your castle like a wounded dog. My boys are taking over piers 17 through 22 tomorrow morning. If your men interfere, it’s all-out war."
"Piers 17 through 22 belong to the Vale Trust," Adrian said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. "They have belonged to my family for thirty years."
"Things change when a leader loses his edge," Moretti taunted, a cruel grin spreading across his face. "Word on the street is you're playing house with some baker girl from Pilsen. People are saying the great Adrian Vale is letting a wet nurse run his estate."
Before Adrian's lieutenants could draw their weapons, the heavy double doors of the dining room swung open.
Hannah walked in carrying a tray of hot coffee and fresh almond biscotti. She had heard the raised voices from the kitchen and had simply brought the tray, unaware of the lethal nature of the meeting.
Every man in the room froze.
Frank Moretti’s eyes slid toward Hannah, examining her from head to toe with a vile, predatory glint. "Well, well. Is this the little bakery girl?"
Adrian rose from his chair slowly, his terrifying aura instantly filling the room like toxic gas. "Moretti. Leave now."
Moretti didn't move. Instead, he stood up, walking toward Hannah with a sneer. "You know, sweetheart, if you ever get tired of serving a washed-up widower, the Moretti family pays much better for... personal services."
He reached out his hand to touch Hannah's face.
Hannah didn't back away. She looked Moretti dead in the eyes, her expression as cold as marble.
Before Moretti's fingers could even brush her hair, Adrian grabbed Moretti's wrist in a vise-like grip, twisting it back until the bone cracked loudly in the silent room.
Moretti screamed in agony, dropping to his knees. His two bodyguards reached for their guns, but Adrian's four lieutenants instantly drawn their silenced sidearms, aiming them directly at the guards' heads.
"If you ever look at her again," Adrian whispered into Moretti's ear, his voice dark, demonic, and unyielding, "I will feed you to the crabs in Jamaica Bay. Get out of my house."
May you like
Adrian shoved Moretti backward. The rival underboss stumbled, clutching his broken wrist, his face twisted in pure, hateful humiliation as his guards dragged him toward the door.
"You're dead, Vale!" Moretti spat, blood dripping from his lip. "You and that bitch!"
