Chapter 2 - The Security Feed in Sub-Level One
The private security command center on sub-level one smelled of cold ozone, electrical solder, and rain. Six sixty-inch monitors lined the wall, glowing in high-contrast monochromes as they played the synchronized feeds of the estate's forty-eight surveillance angles.
Alessandro sat in the leather armchair behind the central terminal, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. Standing beside him was Marco, holding a digital tablet connected to the primary storage array.
"Rewind to 18:42," Alessandro ordered. "Camera seven. The service prep station beside the pastry refrigerators."
The digital timestamp on the top right corner scrolled backward: 18:44... 18:43... 18:42:15.
On the screen, the kitchen staff was moving with military precision, plating entrees and arranging crystal dessert flutes. In the center of the frame sat the four-tier birthday cake, covered in white Madagascar vanilla fondant and hand-painted gold leaf.
At 18:42:30, a figure walked into the narrow service corridor behind the pantry.
The individual wore a high-collared catering coat, a service cap pulled low over the brow, and latex food-preparation gloves. The figure paused beside the silver dessert trolley, glanced over their shoulder toward the busy dishwashing line, and reached into their left breast pocket.
They produced a small, rectangular silver box—no larger than an antique snuff box.
With practiced speed, the individual popped the latch, lifted a tiny bone spatula, and dusted a fine, translucent crystalline powder across the lower left quadrant of the bottom cake layer—the exact sector designated on the service chart for Ethan's ceremonial first slice.
Alessandro’s eyes narrowed to slivers of cold flint. "Zoom in on the left wrist."
Marco tapped the glass, enhancing the resolution on the lower edge of the caterer's sleeve.
The catering coat's cuff was slightly pulled back, revealing a sliver of olive skin, a faint, distinct crescent-shaped surgical scar above the styloid process, and a heavy, custom-made timepiece.
It was a rose-gold Audemars Piguet Royal Oak with a skeletonized sapphire dial and an engraved platinum bezel.
Alessandro’s breath caught in his throat.
There was only one watch like that in the entire city of New York.
It had been custom-commissioned by Alessandro three years ago in Geneva, crafted by master horologists to commemorate the defense of the Brooklyn container terminals. Engraved on the interior case-back in Italian script were the words: FRATEL DI SANGUE — ALESSANDRO A DANTE.
May you like
To my blood brother.
The watch belonged to Dante Moretti—Alessandro’s younger brother, his most trusted lieutenant, and the godfather to young Ethan.
