Chapter 7 - The Poisoned Doll
The gala seemed like a triumph, but in the underworld, public humiliation was an open declaration of war.
Three days after the ball, a courier arrived at the Moretti estate under a white flag. He carried a large, ornate wooden chest bound in polished brass, marked with the seal of the Commission—the governing council of the mafia families.
“A peace offering from Don Romano,” Mario announced, pacing around the mahogany desk in Luca’s study. “He claims he wants to settle the dock dispute without further bloodshed. Sent gifts for the family.”
Luca sat behind his desk, swirling an inch of aged scotch in a crystal tumbler. His eyes were narrowed. “Romano doesn't know the meaning of peace. Have the bomb squad sweep the box.”
“Already done,” Mario replied. “No explosives. No radiation. No electronic bugs. It’s clean. Inside was a case of 1945 Romanée-Conti for you, and this... for the girl.”
Mario set a vintage porcelain doll onto the desk.
It was exquisite. Dressed in antique Victorian lace, with hand-painted porcelain cheeks, glass eyes, and spun-silk blonde curls. It looked like an artifact from a museum.
Clara, who had entered the study carrying a ledger of household expenses, stopped dead in her tracks. Her eyes locked onto the doll.
“It’s beautiful,” Mario muttered. “The old bastard must have spent fifty grand on it.”
Clara stepped closer. Her senses, honed by months of hyper-awareness to Mia’s environment, picked up something faint.
A scent.
It was almost imperceptible beneath the smell of old wood and antique fabric. A sweet, cloying aroma, like crushed bitter almonds and rotting peaches.
“Wait,” Clara said sharply.
Luca looked up, instantly attuned to the urgency in her voice. “What is it, Clara?”
“Don't touch it,” Clara warned, stepping past Mario. She pulled a clean linen handkerchief from her pocket, wrapped it around her hand, and leaned close to the doll’s porcelain face.
She inspected the delicate lace collar. Along the hem of the antique dress, the fabric was stiff, slightly discolored with a faint, yellowish residue that had dried into the threads.
“Mia hugs her toys,” Clara whispered, her voice trembling with rising fury. “She sleeps with them. She presses her face against them.”
Luca rose from his desk slowly, the glass tumbler shattering in his bare hand. Scotch and dark crimson dripped onto the blotter. “Cyanide?”
“Or a synthetic nerve agent,” Clara said, backing away from the desk. “Something contact-transmissible. If Mia had taken this to bed, her body heat and sweat would have activated the residue. She would have stopped breathing in her sleep, and the coroner would have ruled it sudden infant death syndrome or heart failure.”
Mario’s face drained of color. He reached for his sidearm with a curse.
Luca didn't shout. He didn't swear.
The silence that fell over him was far more terrifying than any scream. He reached into his desk drawer, pulled out a satellite phone, and dialed a three-digit extension.
“Dante,” Luca spoke into the receiver.
A voice crackled on the other end.
“Activate Protocol Omega. Romano’s primary residence in Long Island. His warehouse in Brooklyn. His private yacht at the marina.”
A pause on the line. “*All of them, boss?*”
“Leave nothing breathing,” Luca commanded calmly. “Burn the foundations. Salt the earth. And bring Vincent Romano to me alive. Tell him he has an appointment with my daughter’s governess.”
He hung up the phone.
Clara stood trembling by the desk. Luca walked around the heavy furniture, ignoring the bloody cuts on his palm from the broken glass. He took Clara’s hands in his, pulling her into his embrace.
“You saved her again,” he whispered into her hair, his massive body vibrating with lethal energy.
“They will never stop, Luca,” Clara wept against his chest. “As long as they think they can hurt you through her, she will never be safe!”
May you like
“They will stop tonight,” Luca promised, kissing her forehead with fierce, possessive reverence. “Because after tonight, there will be no Romanos left to remember how to pull a trigger.”
***
