Chapter 5 - the false trail
The room descended into a suffocating quiet.
Amelia looked at the folded military memorial card on the desk. The printed photo showed a young, smiling marine in dress blues with the exact split-tailed viper insignia embossed in gold foil above his name: *Staff Sergeant David Bellini.*
The date of the funeral was three days ago.
Amelia’s cheeks burned with a mixture of embarrassment and lingering dread. "I... I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. Bellini. But the mark on the cap—"
"Could have been scratched by anyone who saw my arm at the wake," Marco spat back, rebuttoning his cuff with sharp, angry jerks. "Half the security staff attended. Any one of fifty men could have copied it to set me up. Or maybe our little wet nurse here knew about it and wanted to eliminate the head of security so she could run the nursery."
"That's enough, Marco," Lorenzo said, his voice dropping like an iron curtain.
"Boss, she showed up out of nowhere three weeks after Clara's funeral," Marco pressed, stepping closer. "She claims her child died, but did anyone run her background check past the local registry? Did we verify who paid her rent in North End?"
Amelia held Leo tighter as the baby gave a sleepy sigh against her shoulder. "I came through the Southside Domestic Agency. I have nothing to hide."
"We will verify everything," Lorenzo said coldly. He turned to Marco. "Where is the courier manifest for the formula?"
Marco handed over a leather-bound clipboard. "Arrived Monday at 8:00 AM. Signed for by Helena Cole. I cross-checked the seals myself."
Lorenzo examined the signature. Then he held up the plastic bottle cap under the harsh white LED strip of the console.
"Marco," Lorenzo said quietly. "Look closely."
Marco leaned in, squinting at the scratched plastic.
"The head of this viper isn't pointing left like your battalion crest," Lorenzo murmured, his voice sending a chill down Amelia's spine. "It's pointing right. With three fangs instead of two."
Marco stared. His dismissive posture vanished instantly. The color drained from his face.
"The Moretti syndicate," Marco whispered, his voice suddenly hollow. "That's Paulo Moretti’s private seal."
"Paulo Moretti died four years ago in Chicago," Lorenzo said, his jaw tightening into granite. "His entire family was wiped out."
May you like
"Apparently not all of them," Marco replied, terror finally breaching his stoic exterior. "Boss... if the Morettis are inside this house, Leo isn't just being starved. They're finishing the hit they started on the turnpike."
***
