Chapter 5 - The Man Who Used Alessandro’s Name
At 7:30 the next morning, Rosa Bellini arrived at St. Catherine Medical Center carrying a paper bag full of breakfast.
She did not know why Alessandro had asked her to come.
She only knew Emma had complained that hospital oatmeal tasted “like wet wallpaper,” and Rosa had apparently taken the criticism personally.
She entered Room 814 with blueberry pancakes, bacon, sliced strawberries, and enough food for six people.
Emma sat up immediately.
“Miss Rosa!”
Rosa smiled.
“There’s my runaway employee.”
Emma froze.
Sophia did too.
Rosa saw their faces.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
She put down the bag.
“That was a joke.”
Emma whispered, “I’m not in trouble?”
Rosa crossed the room and hugged her.
“No.”
“Mom either?”
“No.”
Rosa looked at Sophia.
“Never.”
Alessandro stood outside the room watching them.
He had known Rosa nearly forty years.
He had seen her bury her husband.
Seen her survive cancer.
Seen her stand between his father and an employee he wanted dismissed.
He had never been afraid of speaking to her.
Until that morning.
Marco appeared beside him.
“You want me there?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“No.”
Marco nodded.
“Good luck.”
Alessandro glared at him.
Marco walked away.
When Rosa stepped back into the hallway, Alessandro said, “Come with me.”
She studied his face.
“What happened?”
“Private room.”
“Alessandro.”
“Please.”
That word told her everything.
He rarely used it.
They entered the conference room.
Sophia’s copied payroll sheet lay on the table.
Beside it were printouts from the memory card.
Rosa looked down.
Her eyes stopped on Gabriel’s name.
She did not sit.
“What is this?”
Alessandro closed the door.
“I need you to listen before you speak.”
“My son’s name is on that paper.”
“I know.”
“What did he do?”
“Rosa.”
“What did he do?”
Alessandro had ordered men beaten without blinking.
He had delivered terrible news to widows.
He had sat across from prosecutors while they threatened decades in prison.
None of it prepared him for the look on Rosa Bellini’s face.
“Gabriel has been moving money through companies connected to the household accounts.”
She stared.
“No.”
“We have records.”
“No.”
“Rosa.”
“He wouldn’t.”
“I have audio.”
Her eyes filled.
“No.”
Alessandro pressed play.
Gabriel’s voice filled the room.
Then Bellandi’s.
Then the sentence.
Women with kids always quit when you squeeze the schedule hard enough.
Rosa sat down.
Not slowly.
Her knees simply gave.
Alessandro caught her chair.
The recording continued.
My mother cannot find out.
Rosa covered her mouth.
When it ended, the room was silent.
She stared at the table.
“He knew.”
Alessandro sat across from her.
“Knew what?”
“That I would tell you.”
“Yes.”
“He knew what I would think.”
“Yes.”
She looked up.
“What did Renato do?”
“We don’t know everything.”
“Tell me what you know.”
He did.
Wage theft.
Fake contractors.
Threats.
Surveillance.
Santoro.
The missing money.
Sophia’s apartment.
Emma’s photograph.
Rosa’s face changed at that.
“They threatened the child?”
“Yes.”
Her grief disappeared beneath fury.
“What did Gabriel do?”
“We don’t know whether he knew about that part.”
“Don’t protect him.”
“I’m not.”
“You used to protect him when you were boys.”
Alessandro remembered.
Gabriel was six years older.
When Alessandro was ten, Gabriel taught him to throw a baseball.
At twelve, he showed him how to drive on the private road behind the estate.
At thirteen, Gabriel punched another boy for mocking Alessandro after his mother became ill.
They had not been brothers.
But close enough.
“Not this time,” Alessandro said.
Rosa wiped her face.
“Where is he?”
“We don’t know.”
She stood.
“I do.”
Alessandro stared.
“What?”
“He has a workshop.”
“Where?”
“Brooklyn.”
“Why don’t we know about it?”
“Because it has nothing to do with you.”
Everything surrounding Rosa Bellini had always been considered safe.
Therefore no one monitored it.
Another blind spot.
“What kind of workshop?”
“Furniture.”
“You’re sure?”
“He started restoring old furniture after his divorce.”
“Address?”
Rosa hesitated.
Then gave it.
Alessandro immediately texted Marco.
Rosa looked at him.
“If he’s there…”
“Yes?”
“Bring him back alive.”
“I planned to.”
“No.”
She stepped closer.
“Promise me.”
Alessandro met her eyes.
“I promise.”
Rosa nodded.
Then she said, “So I can look him in the face when I ask what kind of man steals bread from women who clean his mother’s house.”
At 10:53 a.m., the Blackstone van arrived at the Moretti mansion.
Everything looked ordinary.
That was intentional.
Two gardeners worked near the front hedges.
Kitchen staff unloaded produce.
A delivery driver carried flowers through the service entrance.
No visible additional security.
Inside, however, every trusted Moretti guard carried a photograph of the two men who stepped from the van.
Both wore electrical contractor uniforms.
Their work order appeared legitimate.
Approved by Gabriel Bellini.
Rosa watched from a security room beneath the mansion.
She had insisted on returning.
Alessandro stood beside her.
Sophia and Emma were already being transferred to the river apartment under heavy protection.
“You should be with them,” Rosa said.
“So should you.”
“This is my house too.”
Alessandro looked at her.
She had never said that before.
But she was right.
“Then we stay.”
The contractors entered the basement utility corridor.
Hidden cameras followed.
One man opened an electrical panel.
The other removed something from a toolbox.
Not a bomb.
Not a weapon.
A small black device.
He connected it to the security network.
Marco watched another monitor.
“They’re trying to clone access credentials.”
Alessandro frowned.
“For what?”
“Not today.”
Rosa understood.
“They’re preparing for later.”
The second man moved toward the backup generator.
Then his phone rang.
He answered.
The room’s hidden microphone captured the conversation.
“Yeah.”
Pause.
“No, we’re inside.”
Pause.
“Bellini said we have twenty minutes.”
Rosa closed her eyes.
Her son’s name.
Clear.
Undeniable.
The contractor continued.
“No sign Moretti knows.”
Alessandro looked at Marco.
“Enough.”
Marco pressed a button.
Every basement exit locked simultaneously.
The contractors froze.
Lights brightened.
A voice came through the ceiling speaker.
“Gentlemen.”
Alessandro’s voice.
Both men went pale.
“I’m told you’re here to fix my electricity.”
One reached beneath his jacket.
Three armed security officers appeared instantly.
“Don’t,” Alessandro said.
The man stopped.
Five minutes later, both were restrained.
One refused to speak.
The other lasted nine minutes.
Gabriel had hired them.
Their job was to install remote access into the mansion’s security system.
Two weeks later, on a night selected by Santoro, they would disable the cameras and unlock the west service gate.
“For whom?” Alessandro asked.
The contractor looked terrified.
“I don’t know.”
“You know.”
“I swear.”
Alessandro leaned closer.
“Who was supposed to come through my gate?”
“I only heard a name.”
“What name?”
The man swallowed.
“Matteo.”
Marco frowned.
Alessandro did not.
He knew exactly who Matteo Santoro was.
Vittorio’s twenty-eight-year-old son.
A man raised on stories about the Moretti family destroying his own.
“What was he supposed to do?”
“I don’t know.”
Alessandro stared.
The contractor broke.
“He said something about finishing what his uncle started.”
Nine years earlier.
The assassination attempt.
Alessandro understood.
This was not primarily theft.
The stolen money financed access.
The employee intimidation protected the scheme.
Bellandi controlled the mansion.
Gabriel controlled legitimate properties.
And Santoro had spent years quietly building a road directly into Alessandro Moretti’s home.
Then Marco’s phone rang.
He answered.
“Go.”
His expression changed.
“Where?”
Pause.
“Secure it.”
He ended the call.
“Gabriel’s workshop.”
Rosa stepped forward.
“He’s there?”
“No.”
Her face fell.
“But somebody was.”
“What did they find?”
Marco looked at Alessandro before answering.
“Bellandi.”
Rosa whispered, “Alive?”
“Yes.”
Alessandro’s eyes narrowed.
“Where is he now?”
“He was tied to a chair.”
Rosa stared.
“What?”
“Badly beaten. Conscious.”
“Who did it?”
“He says Santoro.”
Alessandro immediately understood.
“They left him for us.”
Marco nodded.
“Looks that way.”
“Why?”
“To send a message.”
Then Marco added quietly, “There was something beside him.”
Alessandro waited.
“A photograph of Emma.”
Rosa’s face became white.
“And?”
“An address written on the back.”
“What address?”
Marco looked toward the security monitor.
“The river apartment.”
Alessandro did not move.
For one terrifying second, his mind stopped.
Only three people outside the security team knew Sophia and Emma had been taken there.
Alessandro.
Marco.
Rosa.
Then his phone rang.
The caller ID showed the guard assigned to the apartment.
Alessandro answered.
No voice.
Only breathing.
Then a man laughed softly.
Not the guard.
“Alessandro Moretti.”
Alessandro’s blood turned cold.
“Vittorio.”
Across the room, Marco began issuing silent orders.
Rosa covered her mouth.
Santoro’s voice sounded almost cheerful.
“It has been a long time.”
“Where are they?”
“Straight to business.”
“Where are Sophia and Emma?”
“You always were impatient.”
“If you touch them—”
“You’ll do what? Kill me?”
Santoro laughed.
“You killed my brother. See how much that solved.”
Alessandro forced himself to remain calm.
“What do you want?”
“I want you to understand something.”
“What?”
“The woman cleaning your windows knew more about your house than you did.”
Alessandro’s grip tightened.
“And her little girl walked right through your gates.”
Santoro paused.
“So did I.”
The call ended.
Alessandro looked at Marco.
“Get me eyes inside that apartment.”
“We lost the feed three minutes ago.”
“Call the guard.”
“No response.”
Rosa whispered, “Alessandro.”
He turned.
For the first time in decades, Rosa Bellini looked truly afraid.
“Bring that little girl home.”
Alessandro said nothing.
He was already moving.
May you like
Because Emma Delgado had walked into his mansion believing she needed to clean a window to save her mother’s job.
Now Alessandro would tear apart every block in Manhattan if necessary to save her.
