The House of Glass

Chapter Thirteen

The penthouse windows shimmered with the blood-orange glow of sunset, the city beneath reduced to moving shadows. Alex Morano stood before them like a statue carved from storm clouds—motionless, unyielding, and ready to shatter. He had spent years building empires from ruin, but nothing had prepared him for the quiet, lethal betrayal whispering through his bloodline.

Eliza Maranzano sat like a black widow on the edge of the velvet couch, her legs crossed, hands draped lazily in her lap. Her poise was deliberate, dangerous—she wore power like a diamond necklace, effortless and dazzling. The very sight of her twisted Alex’s stomach. She wasn’t just a ghost from his father’s past—she was the living architect of secrets too carefully buried.

“You’re quieter than usual, Alex,” she purred, swirling the amber liquid in her crystal glass. “Is that rage I see brewing… or fear?”

“I don’t waste fear on people who lie to me,” Alex said, voice low and sharp. “But—you-you owe me the truth.”

A pause. The glass tapped gently against her ring. “And which truth are you hunting now, darling? There are so many.”

He stepped closer, jaw clenched. “The one about you and my father. About the alliance. About how I’ve been walking blind into something you orchestrated long before he died.”

Eliza’s lips curled into a slow smile. “So Dominic finally opened the vault.”

He didn’t answer, but she saw the shift in his eyes—confirmation enough.

Eliza set her glass down with a soft clink. “Your father and I made a pact when the streets still bled with our fathers’ mistakes. We saw something in each other—ambition, ruthlessness, vision. But we also saw a threat: the coming collapse of the old order.”

“You mean the Maranzanos and Moranos?” Alex asked. “You two were enemies.”

“Publicly, yes. But enemies are often the best allies… when no one’s watching.”

Alex’s hands fisted at his sides. “You used me.”

“No, Alex.” Her voice dropped to a softer register. “We protected you. We kept you out of the line of fire for as long as we could. But power doesn’t stay dormant forever. When your father died… it all began to slip.”

His stare was cold, razor-thin. “So where does Sophia fit into your little prophecy?”

Eliza’s eyes flashed—not with surprise, but with an emotion more complicated. “She was born into my world, but she wasn’t meant to stay there. I raised her to be strong, yes… but not for you. For herself.”

Alex’s breath hitched. “You trained her. Molded her.”

“She’s not your pawn, Alex. Just as you were never truly mine. But whether you like it or not, your paths are entwined.”

He turned away, the ache in his chest growing unbearable. The pieces were finally connecting, but the picture they formed wasn’t strategy—it was betrayal. His father’s silence. Sophia’s deception. Eliza’s manipulation.

All this time, he had been building trust on a foundation of lies.

Back at the safehouse, Sophia sat by the bedroom window, bathed in pale moonlight, staring into the streets below. Her thoughts raced. The silence between her and Alex had become a wall neither dared to breach.

She could feel him pulling away. Not with cruelty, but with caution—like a man stepping across cracked ice.

He hadn’t spoken much since returning from Dominic’s. The confrontation had changed something in him. He was colder now, sharper… and she feared he was starting to see her not as a partner, but a threat.

A knock came at the door. She stood as Alex entered, his face unreadable.

“I need to know the truth,” he said without preamble.

Sophia didn’t move. “About Eliza?”

“About everything.”

She nodded slowly, crossing the room. “Sit.”

He remained standing.

Sophia sighed. “Eliza raised me after my mother died. She trained me in the arts of persuasion, control… survival. I became her weapon, her investment. But I never asked for it.”

“You still used it,” Alex said tightly.

“I didn’t have a choice.”

He stepped closer. “You always have a choice. Especially when it involves lying to me.”

Her eyes narrowed, voice laced with frustration. “Lying? Or protecting you from the truth that would destroy what little peace you had left?”

“Peace built on deception isn’t peace—it’s illusion.”

Sophia’s hands trembled at her sides. “I wanted to tell you, Alex. But every time I tried, something stopped me. Your father’s warnings. Eliza’s threats. My guilt.”

Alex’s expression flickered—grief, fury, love—all at war. “What are you doing here, Sophia? Whose side are you on?”

She blinked back tears. “I’m on mine. But that doesn’t mean I want to see you fall.”

He stared at her for a long time, the silence more brutal than any shout.

“I don’t know if I can trust you anymore.”

Sophia stepped forward. “Then let me earn it back.”

But Alex didn’t move. He turned and walked out, the door clicking shut behind him.

Later that night, Dominic leaned against the hood of a black SUV in the underground garage of one of Alex’s safe properties. The air smelled of gasoline and tension.

Alex approached, jaw rigid.

“She didn’t deny it,” he muttered.

Dominic gave a short nod. “And you?”

“I wanted to believe she had no part in any of it. But now… I don’t know.”

Dominic straightened. “You’re at war, brother. With everyone. Including yourself.”

Alex glanced at him. “How did you live with it? Knowing the truth all these years?”

Dominic looked away. “Because I knew one day you’d have to face it. And I prayed you’d be strong enough when you did.”

Alex’s phone buzzed. He glanced down—Diego.

Incoming call: Diego Vega.

He answered, voice tight. “What is it?”

“We have a problem,” Diego said. “Carlo’s bank accounts just lit up again. Offshore transfers. Someone’s moving his money—and they’re doing it from inside your circle.”

Alex’s pulse quickened. “You sure?”

“Positive. And if I had to guess… this isn’t about cleaning up after a dead man. This is about funding something bigger.”

Alex’s eyes darkened. “Keep tracing it. And don’t tell anyone else.”

As he hung up, Dominic met his gaze.

“Do you think Sophia’s involved in this too?” he asked.

Alex didn’t answer. But the silence spoke volumes.

Back at the penthouse, Eliza stood at her window, a shadow behind the glass.

“Phase two,” she whispered into her phone. “Begin it. He’s questioning her now. Soon, he’ll abandon her.”

A pause.

“No… not yet. Let him feel the cut before you twist the blade.”

She hung up, smiling faintly to herself.

Let the reckoning begin.