Chapter 4 - The Bodyguard's Shadow and a Stolen Notebook
The sun rose over Lake Michigan, casting a cold, gray light across the estate.
I spent the early morning hours in the kitchen, personally boiling water, preparing fresh oatmeal, and slicing organic fruit for Mrs. Romano.
I didn’t let anyone else near the stove.
After what happened last night, trust was a luxury we couldn't afford.
When I carried the breakfast tray upstairs to Mrs. Romano’s private quarters, I found two armed guards stationed outside her double oak doors.
Inside, Mrs. Romano was sitting near the window, looking at an old leather-bound photo album.
“Good morning, Claire,” she said softly, turning her gentle eyes toward me.
“Good morning, Mrs. Romano. I made your favorite breakfast.”
I placed the tray on her small dining table and poured her fresh tea.
She smiled weakly, reaching out to pat my hand.
“You saved my life yesterday, my dear. If you hadn't spoken up, I would have swallowed that poison without a second thought.”
“I’m just glad I noticed the label in time,” I replied, sitting across from her.
Mrs. Romano turned the page of the photo album.
There was an old photograph of Carmine Romano standing beside an older gentleman with silver hair and a ruthless, sharp gaze.
“Do you know who that is?” Mrs. Romano asked.
“No, ma'am.”
“That is Victor Vale. Alessandra’s father.”
She traced the edge of the photograph with a trembling finger.
“Thirty years ago, Carmine and Victor were partners. But Victor was reckless. He wanted to get involved in human trafficking and narcotics. Carmine refused. He drew a line in the sand. Carmine told him, 'We run docks, we run casinos, we run protection—but we never destroy innocent lives for dirty profit.'”
Mrs. Romano’s voice trembled with ancient sorrow.
“Victor never forgave him for that. When Victor died five years ago, his family’s wealth was nearly drained. Alessandra grew up wanting revenge. She wanted everything the Romano family owned.”
Suddenly, the door swung open.
Matteo walked in, wearing fresh clothes—a crisp white shirt with rolled-up sleeves and dark trousers.
Despite not having slept a single minute, he looked alert and commanding.
“Ma,” he said, kissing her forehead.
“Matteo. Did you find Henderson?”
“Not yet,” Matteo replied. “His phone was found dumped in a storm drain near O'Hare Airport. But we searched his room.”
He pulled a small, worn leather notebook from his pocket and laid it on the table.
“What is that?” I asked.
“Henderson’s personal ledger,” Matteo said. “For the last six months, large sums of offshore cryptocurrency were transferred into an account in his daughter's name. Every payment coincided with a private dinner hosted at this house.”
Matteo opened the notebook to the latest page.
Written in Henderson’s neat handwriting was a single address in the Chicago meatpacking district, along with a time stamp: Tonight, 11:00 PM.
Beside it was a single word: Deliverance.
“What does Deliverance mean?” I whispered.
Matteo’s eyes narrowed into slits.
“It means Alessandra wasn't working alone. The Vale family has allies inside the Five Families. And tonight, they are meeting to divide what they think is already theirs.”
Matteo looked straight at me.
“Claire, I need you to stay with my mother in the safe room beneath the wine cellar tonight.”
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“Are you going to the meatpacking district?” I asked, a sudden cold knot of fear tightening in my stomach.
“I am,” Matteo said calmly. “And I’m not coming back until the people who murdered my father pay for every breath they took.”
