Chapter 8 - A Father's First Lesson
The gala was a success,
but the aftermath was cold.
Marcus had gone to ground,
and my scouts couldn't find him.
This made me more nervous than a direct attack.
A hidden snake is always more dangerous than a barking dog.
I spent the next day in the nursery with Lily.
She sensed the tension in the house,
the way the guards were more alert,
the way her mother was always checking the locks.
"Is something bad going to happen,
Daddy?"
she asked,
looking up from her coloring book.
The word 'Daddy' still hit me like a physical force.
I sat on the floor beside her,
taking the blue crayon from her hand.
"No,
Lily,"
I said,
trying to keep my voice steady.
"But sometimes,
people get jealous of things they don't have."
"Like my crayon?"
she asked.
"Exactly like your crayon,"
I said.
"And when they try to take it,
we have to be strong."
I realized then that I couldn't keep her in a bubble forever.
She was a Moretti,
and one day,
she would have to navigate this world on her own.
I started teaching her things—
not how to use a gun,
but how to be observant.
How to look for exits.
How to trust her instincts.
Isabella watched us from the doorway,
her expression a mix of pride and sorrow.
"She’s six,
Alessandro,"
she said later that night.
"She should be thinking about dolls,
not escape routes."
"She’s a Moretti,"
I replied.
"The world won't let her just be six."
"The sooner she learns that,
the safer she'll be."
We were interrupted by a sudden crash from the gardens.
The alarms blared,
a high-pitched scream that tore through the silence of the mansion.
I grabbed my gun from the bedside table and pulled Isabella toward the floor.
"Stay here!"
I shouted.
"Tony!
Get to the nursery!"
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The windows in the grand hall shattered as smoke grenades were tossed inside.
The war had finally reached my front door.
