Everyone in the mansion was terrified of Alejandro Moretti, yet none of them had the courage to save him—except for a little girl with a pink rabbit backpack.

At 2:00 AM, the central grand hall of the Moretti estate was illuminated by towering crystal chandeliers.

All thirty senior guards, house captains, and lieutenants were summoned to the main hall for an emergency briefing. They stood in rigid lines across the polished marble floor, whispering nervously among themselves.

At the front of the room stood Marco Bellini and Vince.

Marco was trying desperately to maintain his composure, but a nervous bead of sweat kept trickling down his temple. He had tried to check his phone three times, but the estate’s signal jammers had been activated, cutting off all outside communication.

“What’s going on?” Vince whispered under his breath to Marco. “Why did the Boss call a full assembly at two in the morning? Is he sick?”

“Shut up and look professional,” Marco hissed back, his eyes darting toward the grand staircase. “The poison should have killed him in five minutes. I don't know how that little brat’s shot kept him alive, but he looked weak when he went upstairs. If he’s compromised, we execute Plan B.”

“Plan B?” Vince paled. “You mean bring the Valetti guys through the side gate?”

“If necessary,” Marco muttered, his hand resting near his hidden firearm. “Dominic Valetti is waiting two blocks away. If Moretti can’t lead, we take control tonight.”

Before Vince could reply, the heavy double doors at the top of the grand staircase swung open.

The whispering in the hall died instantly.

Alejandro Moretti stepped onto the balcony.

He was not pale. He was not slumping. He walked down the grand marble staircase with slow, heavy, rhythmic steps that echoed like iron boots against stone. He wore his full bespoke dark suit, his coat unbuttoned, revealing a leather shoulder holster housing a polished black sidearm.

Beside him walked Elena, carrying a sleek silver briefcase.

Alejandro stopped at the base of the stairs, standing ten feet away from Marco. His dark gaze swept over the thirty men in the room, resting finally on Marco’s sweating face.

“Brothers,” Alejandro spoke, his voice carrying effortlessly across the vast hall. “Four hours ago, an attempt was made on my life inside my own study.”

A collective gasp rippled through the ranks of guards.

Marco instantly stepped forward, putting on a show of frantic, exaggerated concern. “Boss! Poison? In this house? That’s impossible! We’ve had the perimeter locked down all evening! It must have been an outside supplier—the wine company, or maybe one of the kitchen staff!”

Marco turned around, glaring at the assembled men. “I will personally question every maid, chef, and cleaner in this building! We’ll start with that new maid, Sophia, and her daughter—”

“Marco,” Alejandro interrupted softly.

Marco stopped, blinking. “Yes, Boss?”

“Do you know what I value most in a man?” Alejandro asked, taking a slow step toward him.

“Loyalty, Boss,” Marco answered immediately.

“No,” Alejandro smiled—a cold, terrifying expression that sent a shiver down the spine of every man in the room. “Memory. A man who remembers where he came from, and who gave him his boots.”

Alejandro gestured to Elena.

Elena set the silver briefcase on a marble display table, opened it, and turned a high-powered digital projector toward the pristine white wall of the grand hall.

With a click, a giant, ten-foot-tall video projection illuminated the room.

It was the clear, unedited footage from the study bookshelf.

The entire hall watched in utter, stunned silence as the projection displayed Marco Bellini stepping up to Alejandro’s desk, pulling out the glass vial, pouring the yellow poison into the decanter, and then standing over Alejandro’s collapsing body with a stopwatch in his hand.

The hall went dead quiet.

Marco stared at the wall, his face going from red to ghostly white, his mouth open in complete, helpless horror.

“You...” Marco choked out, taking a fast step backward, his hand flying toward his shoulder holster. “It’s a fake! That’s an AI video! He’s trying to frame me!”

Before Marco’s fingers could even touch the butt of his gun, Alejandro moved with terrifying, lightning speed.

Alejandro closed the distance in a fraction of a second, his massive left hand grabbing Marco by the throat, slamming him violently backward onto the marble floor.

CRACK!

The back of Marco’s head struck the stone. His gun skittered across the floor, spinning until it hit Vince’s boot.

Alejandro stood over Marco, placing one heavy Italian leather shoe directly onto Marco’s chest, pressing down until Marco’s ribs groaned under the crushing weight.

“Vince,” Alejandro spoke without looking away from Marco. “Pick up the gun.”

Vince was shaking violently, his knees knocking together. He bent down, picked up Marco’s fallen pistol with trembling hands, and held it out toward his boss.

“Boss... I didn't know!” Vince sobbed, dropping to his knees. “I swear to God on my mother’s grave, I didn't know Marco was working with the Valettis! He just told me to keep the kid out of the room!”

Alejandro didn't look at Vince. He looked down into Marco’s terrified, bloodshot eyes.

“Who gave you the poison, Marco?” Alejandro asked quietly.

“Go to hell,” Marco spat, blood bubbling at the corner of his lip.

Alejandro pressed his shoe down harder. A sickening pop echoed from Marco’s sternum, making the traitor scream out in agony.

“I don't need your confession, Marco,” Alejandro said softly, pulling his own pistol from his shoulder holster and cocking the hammer with a sharp, lethal CLICK. “I already have Dominic Valetti’s phone records from the cloud server. You sold your brothers for two million dollars.”

“Alejandro, please!” Marco wept, his hands clawing uselessly at Alejandro’s boot. “We’ve been brothers for twelve years! Give me a second chance! Send me away!”

“The four-year-old child you tried to kick out of my study had more honor in her pinky finger than you’ve had in your entire miserable life,” Alejandro growled.