Chapter 3 - The Traitor's LedgerBy 3:00 AM, the quiet of the lodge was broken only by the crackling fire and the muffled tapping of keyboard strokes echoing from the home office down the hall.
Emma hadn't slept. Wrapped tightly in the cashmere blanket, she stared at the amber embers, her mind racing through a dozen different scenarios of how her normal, boring life had imploded into a mafia thriller.
Heavy footsteps approached from the hallway.
Aleandro walked into the living room, his suit jacket discarded, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looked more dangerous than ever, his expression dark and set like granite.
"Found something?" Emma asked quietly.
"Everything," Aleandro said, pouring himself a fresh glass of scotch and leaning against the stone mantelpiece. "Marco decrypted Salvatore’s private server. It wasn't just my brother-in-law. Half my board of directors—men I grew up with, men whose families I protected—voted in favor of my retirement. Permanent retirement."
"Why?" Emma asked, looking up at him. "You already run the city. What more did they want?"
"Expansion," Aleandro’s voice was cold as ice. "I wanted to pull out of the narcotics trade, clean up the shipping docks, and transition the syndicate into legitimate real estate and international logistics. They didn't want legitimacy. They wanted cash, drugs, and blood."
He took a slow sip of his drink, his amber eyes reflecting the firelight.
"And Salvatore wanted my seat at the head of the table. He thought once I was in the ground, my sister would inherit my shares, and he could manipulate her into signing over voting control."
"Your sister," Emma whispered, horrified. "Does she know?"
"No," Aleandro’s jaw tightened. "If she did, she would be dead too. Salvatore is ruthless, but he’s also a coward. He used a paralytic agent because he didn't have the stomach to pull a trigger himself."
Emma shuddered, pulling the blanket closer. "So what now? Do you go to the police?"
Aleandro let out a harsh, bitter laugh. "The police? Emma, half the department is on my payroll, and the other half is on Salvatore’s. In Philadelphia, power isn't decided in courtrooms; it’s decided at the table. And right now, my table has a traitor sitting at the head of it."
"You're going back," she realized, reading the cold certainty in his face.
"Tomorrow night, Salvatore is hosting an emergency meeting of the syndicate elders at our downtown headquarters to 'mourn' my passing and formally consolidate leadership," Aleandro said smoothly. "They think they've won. They think the crown is theirs for the taking."
He looked down at Emma, his gaze softening just a fraction.
"And you're going to help me take it back."
Emma’s eyes widened in sheer disbelief. "Me? Are you insane? I’m a waitress! I don't know anything about corporate takeovers, let alone mob coups!"
"You don't need to know about coups," Aleandro countered, stepping closer and crouching down beside her chair so he was at eye level. "You have something much more valuable. You are the only person outside of my inner circle who can walk into that building without raising suspicion."
"Walk into... Mr. Caruso, your headquarters must be locked down tighter than Fort Knox!"
"Not if you're carrying a delivery," Aleandro murmured, a dangerous, confident smile touching his lips. "Salvatore loves theatricality. Tomorrow night, during the memorial dinner, he’s having a custom floral arrangement delivered from the Belmont estate—the exact same estate where I was supposedly lying in state."
Emma stared at him, her breath catching as the pieces clicked together in her mind.
"No," she whispered. "No way. Absolutely not."
"It’s brilliant," Aleandro insisted softly, his hand resting lightly on the arm of her chair. "You wear the catering uniform. You walk through the service entrance with the floral cart. You get inside the boardroom. And you open the side security panel for Marco and me."
"And if we get caught?" Emma hissed, her heart hammering against her ribs. "If Salvatore’s men find us, they won't use paralytic poison next time! They'll put a bullet between my eyes!"
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Aleandro went quiet. The confidence drained from his face, replaced by an intense, unwavering seriousness. He reached out, his warm fingers gently wrapping around her hand.
"I won't let anyone touch you, Emma," he promised, his voice low, steady, and absolute. "I swear to you on my life, no harm will come to you. You saved me from a wooden box in the ground. Let me keep you safe now."
