Chapter 3 - The Red Laser on the White Gate
The countdown numbers pulsed in harsh red light on Lorenzo’s phone screen.
01:15.
01:14.
01:13.
Amelia saw the reflection of the screen in his widened eyes.
She gasped, lunging forward to grab his sleeve.
“They’re watching us,” she choked out, her fingers digging into his heavy coat. “They knew you would find me in this exact sector. It was all a trap to isolate you.”
Lorenzo didn’t flinch.
Years of underworld warfare surged back into his veins, cooling his panic into absolute, clinical focus.
He grabbed her wrist, pulling her hard against his chest.
“Keep your head down,” he ordered, his voice commanding and absolute.
He reached into his holster, drawing his suppressed tactical pistol with practiced ease.
He peeked around the corner of the brick alleyway.
Across the snow-covered street, a black sedan idling by the curb flashed its high beams twice.
A silhouette in the driver’s seat raised a dark, metallic object toward the alley entrance.
Sniper.
“Move!” Lorenzo roared.
He shoved Amelia behind a massive steel industrial dumpster just as a heavy-caliber round slammed into the brick wall where they had been standing a second before.
CRACK.
Brick dust rained down over their heads.
The deafening report of the silenced rifle echoed faintly over the howling wind.
“Stay down!” Lorenzo barked, pressing his back against the freezing metal of the dumpster.
He tapped his encrypted comms piece embedded in his left ear.
“Rocco! Status report!”
Static hissed through the earpiece for a agonizing second before Rocco’s gruff voice broke through.
“Boss! We’ve got movement at the north perimeter gate! A decoy vehicle just tripped the motion sensors, but the sniper is positioned in the clock tower across from Sector Four!”
“I know,” Lorenzo snarled, peering around the edge of the dumpster. “They’re pinning us down in the alley off Elm Street. Get a strike team to the clock tower right now. Take out the spotter, but leave the shooter alive. I want names.”
“Copy that, Boss. Moving in.”
Lorenzo clicked off the comms and looked down at Amelia.
She was shivering uncontrollably, her teeth clicking together.
The cold was seeping through her oversized parka, but the terror in her eyes had nothing to do with the winter weather.
“They’re going to kill your sister,” she whispered, staring blankly at the snow. “Because of me. If I hadn’t walked into your life—if I had just stayed away—”
“Stop it,” Lorenzo interrupted, grabbing her chin and forcing her to look him in the eyes.
His dark gaze burned with an intensity that cut through the blizzard.
“Look at me, Amelia.”
She swallowed hard.
“You think you can protect me by running?” he continued, his voice dropping to a dangerous, low rumble. “You think hiding in a rat-infested diner in the slums of Brooklyn keeps my family safe from Victor Moretti?”
“I had no choice!” she cried out, a tear freezing on her cheek.
“You always have a choice,” Lorenzo said, his jaw locked tight. “And you chose to protect my sister at the cost of your own safety. You took the brand. You took the silence. You took the blame.”
He pulled her closer, his thumb gently wiping away the frozen tear.
“That doesn’t make you a traitor, Amelia. That makes you the only person in this city who bled for my family.”
Amelia stared at him, stunned.
For fourteen days, she had prepared herself for his wrath.
She had expected torture.
Exile.
A bullet to the heart.
She had never expected this fierce, possessive warmth burning through the winter freeze.
“Enzo…” she whispered, her voice softening.
Before she could finish, the phone in Lorenzo’s hand chimed again.
The timer on the screen hit 00:00.
The red laser dot on Elena’s coat at the mansion gate suddenly vanished.
Lorenzo held his breath, waiting for the explosion.
Instead, the screen updated with a single incoming text message from an unknown number:
“First warning delivered, Bianchi. The bride returns to her master by midnight, or the girl becomes confetti. Tick-tock.”
Lorenzo’s phone screen cracked under the sudden, crushing pressure of his bare fist.
Glass shards bit into his palm, but he didn’t feel the pain.
Only the cold, dark fury of a man whose kingdom was under siege.
He holstered his pistol, scooped Amelia effortlessly into his arms, and stepped out of the alley into the blinding snowstorm.
May you like
“Where are we going?” she gasped, clinging to his broad shoulders.
“Home,” Lorenzo snarled, his eyes fixed on the armored SUV idling at the corner with its engine roaring. “It’s time to settle accounts with the Moretti family.”
