Chapter 5 - The Shattered Crown
Aleandro’s hand froze mid-air. He looked at the small black flash drive in Emily’s fingers, then back up to her eyes. The raw anger in his expression shifted into something much more dangerous—a cold, calculating stillness that had terrified rivals in the Chicago underworld for a decade.
"What is that?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"It's the real ledger," Emily said, placing the drive down on the wooden counter between them, just out of his reach. "The one Isabella didn't want you to see. The one showing where the missing money actually went—and whose name is on the deeds to the riverfront properties she's been buying with your syndicate's cash."
Before Aleandro could reach for the drive, a sharp, metallic click echoed from the doorway.
Vincent, standing in the splintered frame of the front entrance, raised his weapon slightly, his eyes darting toward the dark corner of the kitchen. "Boss. We've got company outside. Two unmarked sedans just turned onto the access road. They're not ours."
Aleandro didn't take his eyes off Emily. "Isabella?" he asked softly, the realization dawning with the crushing weight of an avalanche.
"She knew Clara came here," Emily said, her heart hammering against her ribs. "And if Isabella's people are here, they aren't coming to talk."
Aleandro moved with blinding speed. He swept the flash drive off the counter, shoved it into his inner coat pocket, and grabbed Emily by the arm—not roughly, but with an absolute, unyielding grip that brooked no argument.
"We're leaving," he said, his voice hard as iron.
"I'm not going back to the estate, Aleandro," she said, trying to pull her arm away. "If Isabella thinks I have that drive, she'll burn everything down to get it—including me and this baby."
"You're not going back to the estate," Aleandro said, turning his piercing gaze down to her, his jaw set in a rigid line of absolute fury. "You're coming with me. And my sister is about to find out what happens when someone steals from a Bellini."
Before Emily could answer, the front window shattered inward in a shower of glass and jagged wood. A heavy thud hit the floorboards of the living room, followed by the unmistakable rack of a submachine gun.
"Down!" Aleandro roared, shoving Emily behind the heavy oak dining table as Vincent opened fire toward the front windows with a suppressed automatic pistol.
Glass rained down, and the smell of cordite filled the cozy cabin, instantly erasing years of quiet memories. Emily curled over her stomach, shielding herself behind the thick oak as wood splinters flew overhead.
Aleandro pulled his own weapon from his shoulder holster, his movements fluid, lethal, and terrifyingly precise. He looked down at Emily one last time before moving toward the shattered doorway, his face expressionless mask of rage and cold protection.
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"Stay under the table," he said over the sound of gunfire echoing through the pine forest. "If I don't come back through that door, take the floor hatch to the woods. Don't look back."
Before she could scream his name, Aleandro stepped out into the smoke-filled night, leaving her alone in the wreckage of the cabin with the sound of gunfire tearing through the darkness.
