Chapter 3 - The Estate in the Hills
The limousine glided through the wrought-iron gates of the Rosselli estate, an enormous gray-stone manor situated on fifty private acres of wooded hills overlooking the city skyline.
The rain beat steadily against the tinted windows as the vehicle stopped before the grand marble portico.
Alina stepped out of the vehicle into the cool night air, holding baby Leo in her arms. Surprisinly, the tiny boy had fallen fast asleep against her chest during the drive, his small hand still clutching the fabric of her pale-blue shirt.
Dante stepped out beside her, his broad shoulders squared, his burgundy suit spotless despite the rain. He looked down at Alina holding his son, a subtle, unreadable warmth touching his dark eyes for a fraction of a second before his stern expression returned.
"Follow me," Dante commanded flatly.
They entered the grand foyer—a magnificent hall of polished white marble, soaring arches, and towering crystal chandeliers. Dozens of household staff and armed enforcers stood at attention along the corridors, bowing their heads respectfully as the Don passed.
Dante led Alina up the grand sweeping staircase to the nursery wing on the second floor. The nursery was a sunlit, peaceful sanctuary filled with plush furniture, hand-painted murals, and soft velvet cribs.
Alina gently lowered baby Leo into his crib, carefully uncurling his tiny fingers from her silver necklace. She pulled a warm fleece blanket over his shoulders, stepping back with a soft, maternal smile.
"He likes you," Dante murmured, standing in the doorway of the nursery, his tall frame leaning against the carved wood. "He hasn't slept through a car ride since his mother passed six months ago."
Alina turned to face him, her cautious, intelligent eyes searching his rugged face. "What happened to his mother?"
"She died of heart failure during childbirth," Dante said flatly, his tone void of emotion, yet carrying a deep, buried weight. "And ever since, rival syndicates have been looking for a crack in my armor."
He walked over to the tall bay window overlooking the estate grounds, his broad hands clasped behind his back, his black dragon tattoo visible against his white collar.
"Why did my mother tell me to run from men with dragon tattoos, Mr. Rosselli?" Alina asked softly, stepping closer to him.
Dante turned his head slowly, his piercing gaze locking onto hers.
"Because fifteen years ago, my late father ordered the dragon crest branded onto every high-ranking member of the Rosselli syndicate," Dante revealed softly. "And your mother, Clara, was the chief archivist who held the master deeds to our global foundation."
Alina’s breath caught in her throat. "My mother was a mafia archivist?"
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"She wasn't just an archivist, Alina," Dante said, taking two slow steps toward her, his towering presence filling the quiet nursery. "She was my father's sworn protector. And before she disappeared, she left behind a vault that can only be unlocked by two matching lockets."
He reached into his inner suit pocket, pulling out a small antique silver locket—identical in design to the one hanging around Alina's neck.
