Chapter 3 - The Price of Protection
The next morning, the illusion of quiet domesticity shattered the moment a sleek black town car rolled up the private gravel driveway.
I was sitting in the massive marble kitchen, nursing a cup of black coffee, while a private chef prepared breakfast for Leo. Dante sat across from me, reviewing a thick stack of legal documents with an expression of cold fury.
“Mr. Moretti,” a security guard announced, stepping into the kitchen briskly. “Victor Vance’s associates are at the front gates. They’re demanding entry.”
Dante didn’t look up from his papers. “Tell them if they cross the property line, my men will ship them back to Brooklyn in pieces. And make sure the cameras caught their license plates.”
“Victor Vance?” I repeated, the name ringing a bell from local crime reports. “Isn’t he the one heading the dock union syndicate?”
Dante finally raised his eyes, the dark irises flashing with dangerous intent. “Victor is a man who thinks he can muscle his way into my shipping lanes. The chandelier that fell at the charity gala? It wasn't an accident, Elena. The cable was severed. They were trying to send me a message.”
My coffee cup suddenly felt heavy in my hands. “A message? By dropping a two-hundred-pound light fixture into a crowded ballroom where children were playing?”
“Men like Victor don’t care who gets caught in the crossfire,” Dante said coldly, standing up from the table. He walked over to me, placing a large, warm hand on the back of my chair. “Which is why you are not leaving this house. My enemies know you took the hit for my son. That makes you a target.”
“A target?” My voice rose in disbelief. “I’m a waitress! I live in a cramped studio apartment on Tenth Street! I don’t belong in a mob war!”
May you like
“You chose to jump in front of a falling ceiling for my flesh and blood,” Dante replied, his voice dropping into a low, hypnotic register that sent shivers down my spine. “That makes you my responsibility. And nobody touches what belongs to Dante Moretti.”
---
