Chapter 2 - The Iron Cage of the Belmont Estate
The private living quarters on the top floor of the Belmont estate looked less like a home and more like a command center.
Monitors lined the walls, displaying security feeds of the perimeter gates, the subterranean garages, and every corridor of the sprawling compound. A medical cart equipped with emergency oxygen and saline drips stood in the corner—evidence that whatever had poisoned Alessandro hadn't been an accident; it had been anticipated, managed, and survived.
Emma sat stiffly on the edge of a leather armchair, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.
Alessandro stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking down at the rainy Chicago riverfront below while a combat medic patched a small IV port in the back of his hand. He had changed into a dark turtleneck and wool trousers, the color slowly returning to his sharp, carved features.
“You’re checking my pulse again,” Alessandro noted without turning around.
Emma blinked, flushing red. “I’m making sure you aren't going to collapse on the carpet. That would be a mountain of paperwork I don't want to deal with.”
A dry, humorless sound escaped Alessandro’s throat. He turned around, walking slowly toward her, his dark eyes sharp and analytical.
“You’re not crying. You’re not begging for money, and you haven't tried to run toward the doors since we left the ballroom,” Alessandro observed, stopping three feet away. “Most temporary banquet servers would be huddled in a corner wetting themselves right now.”
“Most temporary banquet servers haven't spent two years putting themselves through night school while dealing with loan sharks who make your little family look like Girl Scouts,” Emma fired back, the adrenaline finally overriding her terror. “I needed this catering gig to pay my rent, Mr. Caruso. Instead, I found a dead man who wasn't dead, got dragged into a mafia execution plot, and now I’m being held hostage in a penthouse by a guy who looks like he eats glass for breakfast. Excuse me if I’m fresh out of tears.”
Silence stretched between them.
For a terrifying second, Emma thought she had crossed a line that would get her thrown off the Belmont balcony.
Instead, Alessandro’s mouth twitched upward into a genuine, albeit grim, smile.
“A night school student,” Alessandro mused softly. “What’s your major?”
“Forensic accounting and corporate compliance,” Emma said defiantly.
Alessandro’s eyes narrowed with sudden interest. He walked over to his massive oak desk, picked up a secure tablet, and tapped the screen a few times before sliding it across the wood toward her.
“Look at these ledger files,” Alessandro commanded. “They represent the regional shipping manifests for Caruso Freight over the last six months. My brother Dominic swore up and down that our profit margins dropped twelve percent due to fuel inflation. Tell me what you see.”
Emma looked at the tablet. Her professional instincts immediately kicked in, momentarily pushing aside the fact that she was trapped in a criminal stronghold. She grabbed the stylus, scrolled through three nested sub-folders, and traced a series of recurring decimal discrepancies.
“Your fuel costs didn't spike,” Emma said without looking up. “The weight-to-volume ratio on these container entries doesn't match diesel consumption. Someone has been siphoning millions into dummy shell corporations registered in the Caymans—and they used your signature keys to authorize the transfers.”
“My signature keys,” Alessandro repeated coldly. “Keys that only three people on earth possessed: me, my brother Dominic, and Marcus Vance.”
“Well,” Emma set the tablet down, meeting his gaze levelly. “Whoever tried to poison you with a paralytic agent timed it right before the quarterly board audit. If you had stayed in that casket for another twenty-four hours, the board would have voted to liquidate the shipping division, and your brother would have inherited clean title to the entire empire.”
Alessandro walked slowly around the desk, stopping right in front of her chair. He leaned down slightly, his gaze burning into hers.
“You have a brilliant mind, Emma,” Alessandro said quietly. “And you are standing right in the middle of a war zone. If I let you walk out those front gates tonight, Dominic’s enforcers will put a bullet in your head before you reach the end of the driveway to ensure you keep your mouth shut.”
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Emma’s breath caught. “So... you’re keeping me here?”
“I’m keeping you safe,” Alessandro corrected, pressing a heavy brass key card into her palm. “And I’m deputizing you. Starting tonight, you are my chief internal auditor. If we’re going to tear this family apart to find out who tried to bury me, you’re going to help me hold the knife.”
