Chapter 1 - The Mark of the Past
The men who came for Lorenzo Moretti expected a fortress.
They expected reinforced doors and enough loyal soldiers to turn the estate into a private war zone.
What they never expected was the maid.
Beatrice had spent three years making sure nobody expected anything from her.
She carried coffee and cleaned stains from expensive shirts without ever asking questions.
Most importantly, she listened.
Nobody lowered his voice around the maid.
That morning, the espresso machine hummed while Beatrice carefully wiped the steam wand.
Enzo sat at the head of a massive dining table surrounded by his capos.
Fear had entered the Moretti organization because the Irish mob was getting bold.
Enzo ordered his men to double security and told Beatrice to get out.
The moment the oak doors closed behind her, the harmless maid disappeared.
Her exaggerated limp vanished as she walked down to her basement room.
Years earlier, a mission outside Kandahar had ended her military career, but it had honed her survival instincts.
Hours later, she noticed the estate becoming unnaturally quiet.
The crickets stopped.
The footsteps of the guard above her window ceased completely.
She knelt before a hidden steel trunk and pressed her thumb against the biometric scanner.
The lid opened to reveal black tactical equipment and a military grade rifle.
Suddenly, a deafening explosion tore through the front entrance of the mansion.
Upstairs, Enzo was dragged behind a marble column by his bodyguard as attackers swarmed the corridor.
Six heavily armed silhouettes advanced through the dust with deadly precision.
Enzo gripped his nearly empty pistol, realizing he was about to die.
Then a service door opened behind the attackers and a large figure stepped out.
Beatrice raised her rifle and the corridor erupted in gunfire.
The attackers dropped before they even realized what hit them.
Enzo stared in disbelief at the woman who cleaned his bathrooms.
She calmly checked the perimeter and told him to move his surviving men away from the windows.
Then she knelt beside one of the dead attackers and inspected a black device on his tactical vest.
A symbol of three intersecting lines inside a circle was scratched into the casing.
The color instantly drained from her face.
She looked at the mafia boss with hollow eyes.
She told him the Irish did not send these men.
Enzo asked who did.
Beatrice whispered that they were not here for him.
She slowly stood up and looked him dead in the eye.
They were here for her.
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Enzo slowly raised his pistol and pointed it directly at her chest.
He clicked the safety off and demanded to know who she really was.
