Chapter 1
Seventeen.
That was the number of executive assistants Lorenzo Conti had fired during the previous 6 months.
Most lasted 1 week. One lasted 45 minutes.
They all made the same mistake. They looked at him and saw the ruthless head of the Sicilian syndicate.
Then came Nora.
Nora, who arrived late, was missing an earring, and completely forgot his name during the interview. She did not look at him and see a monster. She looked at him and saw a man standing between her and a paycheck.
That changed everything.
The glass doors of Conti Enterprises did not squeak or shudder. They opened with the silent, expensive hiss of a vacuum sealing shut.
Lorenzo Conti sat behind a desk made from reclaimed dark oak, staring at the woman seated across from him.
Her name was something he had not bothered to remember. He had not looked properly at the résumé.
He was looking at her hands.
They were trembling. A rapid, delicate shake moved through the inexpensive plastic pen she held.
“I asked for my espresso at precisely 8:15,” Lorenzo said.
His voice was never loud. It was a flat, gravelly baritone that moved across the floor like a heavy stone.
“I know, Mr. Conti.”
The woman’s voice fractured.
“The machine downstairs was malfunctioning, and I thought—”
“You thought?”
Lorenzo leaned backward without blinking.
“You believed your interpretation of time superseded my instruction?”
He continued before she could answer.
“You believed my morning schedule, which dictates the movement of $500 million in international shipping, could wait for a malfunctioning milk frother?”
“No, sir.”
She tightened both hands around the pen.
“I will correct it tomorrow. I promise.”
“There is no tomorrow.”
Lorenzo pressed a silver button over the intercom.
“Carmine, escort Miss—”
He paused and finally examined the top of the résumé.
“Miss Gable from the building.”
His expression remained unchanged.
“Pay her for the week.”
The woman began to cry.
Lorenzo felt nothing.
There was no pity or irritation. There was only a dull, hollow exhaustion.
He turned his chair toward the floor-to-ceiling windows and looked over the gray city.
Lorenzo was not a sadist.
He simply could not afford a loose thread inside his life.
The legitimate surface of Conti Enterprises was immaculate, but the blood financing it was notoriously difficult to remove. An assistant who could not manage the pressure of a malfunctioning espresso machine would collapse the 1st time a man with a broken nose and loaded Glock entered the waiting room.
Lorenzo required steel.
Human resources continued sending him wet paper.
Thirty minutes later, the intercom sounded.
Carmine’s rough voice entered the office.
“Boss, the agency sent another candidate.”
A pause followed.
“Number 18.”
“Send her inside.”
The oak doors opened.
A disaster entered.
Nora Davies was out of breath. She wore a gray pencil skirt, a practical beige blouse, and 1 black heel.
Her other foot was bare except for sheer pantyhose with a large run extending along the calf.
Her hair had probably been arranged neatly at some point, but it now escaped around her face in complete rebellion.
A broken heel remained inside 1 hand.
A damaged leather tote bag strained inside the other.
Lorenzo stared.
He said nothing.
The silence was a method he ordinarily used to make grown men sweat through expensive suits.
Nora did not sweat.
She examined her bare foot, released a deep and exhausted breath, and dropped the broken shoe into his perfectly clean wastebasket.
“Subway grate.”
Her voice was flat and raspy.
“Eighth Avenue.”
She gestured vaguely.
“It removed the heel entirely.”
Nora limped toward the leather chair opposite his desk and sat without invitation.
“I should apologize for arriving late, but the Metropolitan Transportation Authority should probably apologize to both of us.”
She dropped the heavy tote bag over the floor.
It overturned.
Three packages of inexpensive ramen, a half-empty bottle of generic aspirin, a thick stack of medical bills held together by an overstretched rubber band, and 1 crushed granola bar fell across the Persian rug.
Lorenzo watched her push everything back into the bag.
She did not look humiliated.
She looked irritated.
“Do you know who I am?”
The quiet danger returned to Lorenzo’s voice.
Nora stopped with a damaged medical bill inside her hand.
She looked upward.
Her eyes were dark brown and surrounded by the purple shadows of exhaustion.
“You are the man paying $6,000 each month for a glorified secretary.”
She considered the name.
“The agency said Leonardo.”
Nora frowned.
“No. Lorenzo.”
She finally nodded.
“Lorenzo Conti.”
“And did the agency explain why the position was available?”
“They said the turnover was high.”
She placed the medical bill inside the bag.
“They also said you were exacting.”
Nora sat upright and rubbed both temples.
“Listen, I did not sleep last night.”
Her voice remained direct.
“My mother’s insurance provider rejected coverage for her medication at 2:00 a.m.”
She continued.
“I spent 5 hours listening to telephone music that sounded like a dying cat.”
Nora looked directly at him.
“I am highly caffeinated, deeply irritated, and I genuinely need this position.”
There was no fear inside her eyes.
None.
She looked toward Lorenzo as though he were an overdue electric account: frustrating, necessary, and something she intended to manage.
“You are missing a shoe.”
He pointed out the obvious simply to observe her reaction.
“Excellent observation.”
Nora reached into the bag, removed a pair of black flats, and put them on.
“Now I am not.”
She looked toward the disordered cabinet inside the corner.
“Do you want me to organize that disaster, or are we going to continue discussing my clothing?”
Lorenzo’s right hand moved once over the desk.
For 10 years, men had kissed his ring, lowered their eyes, and spoken in quiet, reverent voices.
Enemies approached through indirect threats and nervous confidence.
No one addressed him like a disappointed schoolteacher.
He should have dismissed her.
He should have ordered Carmine to remove her from the building.
“The cabinet is organized by transaction date.”
The answer came before Lorenzo fully decided to provide it.
“Not alphabetically.”
He looked toward the cabinet.
“You will need to re-index the previous 3 years.”
“Fine.”
Nora stood and crossed toward his desk.
She leaned over and removed his empty coffee cup.
“I will begin after I bring coffee.”
She turned toward the entrance.
“Do you want one?”
“I drink espresso.”
“Excellent.”
Nora continued walking.
“Mud inside a thimble.”
The doors closed behind her.
Lorenzo sat inside the silence for a long time, staring at the place where his cup had been.
By the 3rd week, Lorenzo was convinced Nora Davies possessed a neurological defect.
She lacked the instinct for self-preservation ordinarily found inside the human species.
The executive level of Conti Enterprises was not an ordinary workplace.
The men entering and leaving—captains, enforcers, and fixers—were large, armed, and unmistakably dangerous.
The previous Tuesday, Frankie “the Jaw” Russo entered the waiting area.
Frankie was 6 ft 4 in., constructed from scar tissue and violent temper. His anger regularly placed whoever stood nearest inside a hospital.
He crossed security, shouting for Lorenzo, with blood moving from a new cut above his eyebrow.
Lorenzo reached for the SIG Sauer inside his desk and prepared for an attack.
Through the glass wall, he saw Frankie strike Nora’s desk with his fist.
Nora flinched.
It was not from fear.
Frankie had spilled coffee over her keyboard.
Lorenzo could not hear the conversation, but he saw Nora stand.
She did not retreat.
She pointed 1 manicured finger toward the wet keyboard and then toward Frankie’s face.
She handed him a box of tissues.
Frankie, a man who once killed a rival with a pool cue, blinked, accepted the tissues, and began wiping the keyboard.
Nora placed a bandage across his forehead, instructed him to sit, and contacted Lorenzo through the intercom.
“Mr. Conti.”
Her raspy voice entered his office.
“There is an extremely large, bleeding man outside who says you owe him a conversation.”
She paused.
“I told him he must wait 10 minutes because you are reviewing quarterly projections.”
Her voice remained calm.
“Please confirm.”
Lorenzo slowly closed the drawer containing the pistol.
“Send him inside, Nora.”
She was terrible at the actual position.
That was the irony.
Nora forgot to order printer toner. She lost pens. She consistently mispronounced the names of Italian officials.
She nevertheless navigated the criminal machinery of Lorenzo’s life with the bored authority of an exhausted crossing guard.
One Tuesday evening, the sun disappeared and left long shadows across the office.
Lorenzo sat with a glass of Scotch and reviewed ledgers.
The legitimate shipping figures did not correspond with the weights of smuggled cargo from the Port of Naples.
Someone was removing money.
The door opened.
Nora entered carrying a stack of folders.
Her hair had escaped its clip again. Blue ink marked 1 cheek.
“These are the revised contracts for the waterfront development.”
She dropped them over the desk.
The impact overturned a small brass paperweight.
Lorenzo restored it to its position.
“Nora, I requested these 3 hours ago.”
“I know.”
She lowered herself into the chair opposite him.
“I forgot.”
Nora rubbed her forehead.
“Then I remembered, but the printer jammed.”
She continued.
“Then Carmine came outside and began pacing around my desk like he intended to murder someone.”
Lorenzo opened the 1st file.
“Carmine is under considerable pressure.”
“Carmine needs a hobby.”
Nora closed her eyes briefly.
“Macramé.”
She considered another possibility.
“Pottery.”
Her hand moved toward the tote bag.
“Are we finished?”
“I need to reach the pharmacy before it closes.”
Lorenzo examined her properly.
The overhead light made her skin look nearly transparent.
The dark shadows beneath her eyes had deepened.
She had worn the same gray skirt twice during the week.
“Your mother.”
It was not a question.
Nora became rigid.
Her hand stopped before reaching the bag.
“What about her?”
“You mentioned insurance problems on your 1st morning.”
Lorenzo drank from the Scotch.
“Is she ill?”
“She has multiple sclerosis.”
Nora’s voice became clipped.
The indifferent exterior opened slightly and revealed a defensive edge.
“It is managed.”
She reached for the bag.
“I manage it.”
“I did not suggest otherwise.”
“You did not need to.”
Nora stood.
“Look, Lorenzo.”
She held his gaze.
“You pay me extremely well.”
“I complete the work.”
“I deal with the frightening men wearing inexpensive suits.”
Her expression hardened.
“My private life remains private.”
She lifted the bag.
“We are not going to perform the employer-and-employee bonding exercise.”
Nora looked directly at him.
“You frighten everyone else inside this building.”
“You do not frighten me.”
Her voice remained tired.
“I lack the energy to fear you.”
“Why?”
Lorenzo asked quietly.
“Because a man carrying a firearm is simple.”
Nora moved toward the entrance.
“He shoots you.”
“You die.”
She looked backward.
“It is clean.”
Her hand rested over the door.
“Watching someone you love gradually lose motor function while fighting a faceless bureaucracy for medication costing $4,000 each month is frightening.”
Nora opened the door.
“You are only a man inside an expensive suit who shouts at espresso machines.”
She left.
The oak doors closed.
Lorenzo remained alone inside the dim office.
Only a man.
He looked toward his hands.
Those hands had strangled a traitor inside a Palermo alley 10 years earlier.
They directed an organization constructed through violence.
Lorenzo removed his telephone and entered a number.
Carmine answered on the 1st ring.
“Yes, boss?”
“The Davies woman.”
“Nora?”
Lorenzo’s voice became low and authoritative.
“Discover which pharmacy she uses.”
“Find the name of her mother’s medication.”
He looked toward the closed office doors.
“Purchase the pharmacy.”
His expression remained still.
“If the owner refuses to sell, make the copayment disappear permanently.”
Carmine hesitated.
“Understood.”
A pause followed.
“Anything else?”
“Yes.”
Lorenzo looked through the glass wall toward Nora’s empty desk.
“Tell the men downstairs to stop looking at her.”
He ended the call.
Lorenzo did not examine why he had done it.
He did not practice charity.
The idea of Nora Davies carrying a burden he could not shoot, stab, or intimidate disturbed him in a way he was unprepared to confront.
The attack came on Thursday.
Rain crossed New York in a torrential sheet, transforming the skyline into a gray blur.
Lorenzo expected a meeting with the Tarasov brothers.
They were Russian, recently wealthy, and eager to control part of the docks.
Lorenzo accepted the meeting only to refuse them.
At 2:00 p.m., the private elevator sounded.
Nora’s voice came through the intercom.
“Mr. Conti, the Tarasovs have arrived.”
Her tone changed slightly.
“They brought many friends.”
“Standard procedure, Nora.”
Lorenzo remained seated.
“Allow them inside.”
The oak doors opened.
Dmitri Tarasov entered with 3 men who looked as though they had been constructed from brick and violent intention.
Lorenzo did not stand or offer his hand.
“Lorenzo.”
Dmitri smiled without warmth.
“A pleasure.”
“Let us keep this brief.”
Lorenzo’s voice remained flat.
“The docks are closed to you.”
“The union belongs to me.”
“The transit routes belong to me.”
He leaned backward.
“I have no interest in partnership.”
Dmitri’s smile disappeared.
“We are not requesting partnership.”
His eyes hardened.
“We are offering to purchase your interest.”
“My organization is not for sale.”
“Everything can be purchased.”
Dmitri paused.
“Or taken.”
The attack began immediately.
One bodyguard did not need to reach beneath his jacket.
A suppressed pistol was already concealed along his thigh.
He raised it.
Lorenzo kicked the heavy desk forward while throwing himself backward.
Two bullets tore through the leather chair where his chest had been less than 1 second earlier.
Wood fractured.
Glass broke.
Lorenzo struck the floor and drew his SIG Sauer in 1 movement.
He fired twice beneath the desk.
A body struck the floor.
A wet scream confirmed the impact.
Gunfire filled the office.
The suppressed shots sounded like heavy staplers closing violently.
Lorenzo moved toward the filing cabinets and returned fire.
A 2nd Russian fell.
Dmitri shouted inside his own language and moved behind the leather sofa.
Then the office doors opened.
“Are you people deaf?”
Nora stood inside the entrance carrying a tray with 2 bottles of sparkling water.
“I said there was no smoking inside—”
Time stopped.
Pure panic entered Lorenzo’s chest.
It was a sensation he had not experienced in 20 years.
“Nora, get down!”
He abandoned cover.
Dmitri moved the weapon toward the doorway.
Nora did not scream.
She tripped.
Her worn black flat caught against the edge of the Persian rug.
She fell forward with a startled sound.
The tray left her hands.
A glass bottle of San Pellegrino traveled through the air and struck Dmitri across the bridge of his nose.
The fracture was audible through the gunfire.
Dmitri staggered.
Pain disrupted his aim.
The pistol discharged into the ceiling.
Lorenzo stepped from cover and fired twice into Dmitri’s chest.
The danger ended.
Silence returned with suffocating weight.
Cordite, blood, and lemon water filled the room.
Lorenzo continued holding the pistol while examining the bodies.
All 3 men were dead.
He turned immediately toward the entrance.
Nora lay over the floor, caught inside her skirt and surrounded by broken glass and bubbling water.
Lorenzo crossed the room in 3 strides and dropped beside her.
His hands hovered.
He was suddenly afraid to touch her.
“Nora.”
His voice had changed.
“Where were you struck?”
He examined her body.
“Tell me where you were struck.”
She blinked and stared toward the ceiling.
Then she sat slowly.
Nora was not looking at the dead men.
She looked toward her hands.
Blood covered them.
“Nora.”
Lorenzo gripped her shoulders.
His voice fractured.
“Look at me.”
“I broke the bottles.”
“Forget the bottles.”
His eyes searched her.
“Were you shot?”
Nora raised her left hand.
A long cut crossed the palm where broken glass had entered.
Blood collected heavily and fell toward the rug.
“I am bleeding.”
Her voice sounded detached.
Lorenzo released a breath he had been holding too long.
He returned the pistol to its holster, removed his jacket, and tore off the silk tie.
He bound it tightly around her palm.
“It is glass.”
His voice became gentle despite the bodies behind him.
“Only glass.”
Lorenzo tightened the improvised bandage.
“Maintain pressure.”
“There is blood over the carpet.”
“I do not care about the carpet.”
Nora looked past him.
For the 1st time, she understood the 3 dead men lying across the office.
Her attention stopped over Dmitri’s damaged face.
Then she looked toward Lorenzo.
Adrenaline began leaving her.
Her breathing became short and uneven.
“Look at me.”
Lorenzo held her chin.
“Only look at me.”
“You killed them.”
“They attempted to kill me.”
“I threw water at him.”
A breathless, nearly hysterical laugh escaped her.
“I threw sparkling water at a Mafia gunman.”
“You tripped.”
Lorenzo moved a damp curl from her forehead.
“You also saved my life.”
“I forgot the limes.”
Her eyes rolled upward.
Shock and blood loss overtook her.
Lorenzo caught her before she struck the floor.
He pulled her against his chest and lifted her.
Nora felt too light.
He crossed the room, stepping over his enemies.
Alarms sounded throughout the floor.
His men began rushing toward the office.
Lorenzo looked at the woman inside his arms.
The disorganized and infuriating woman had entered the center of his violent isolation.
Mine, a dark and possessive voice inside him said.
She is mine to protect.
“Carmine!”
Lorenzo shouted as the doors opened and armed men filled the corridor.
“Bring the vehicle.”
Carmine stared at the office.
“Boss, the police and the cleanup—”
“Handle it.”
Lorenzo’s controlled exterior disappeared.
Only a man terrified of losing something he had not known he needed remained.
“Move.”
The private suite at St. Jude’s Hospital smelled of bleach and costly lilies.
Lorenzo hated it.
It was too quiet.
The silence resembled the moment before a monitor produced a continuous tone.
He sat beside the window inside a vinyl chair.
His posture remained rigid.
The silk shirt was stiff with dried blood.
Lorenzo had not changed or left the room during the 12 hours since doctors stitched Nora’s hand.
The physician, a nervous man named Bennett who understood who financed the hospital endowment, assured Lorenzo that the injury was minor.
Fourteen stitches.
No tendon damage.
The mild concussion from striking the floor and the shock were the reasons Nora remained overnight.
She moved inside the bed.
White sheets shifted.
Lorenzo leaned forward.
Nora’s eyes opened.
She stared toward the ceiling before releasing a long, rough breath.
“I feel like I drank inexpensive tequila and was struck by a bus.”
Lorenzo stood, poured water from the plastic pitcher, and held the glass toward her.
“You have a mild concussion.”
His voice remained controlled.
“Drink slowly.”
Nora raised herself using her uninjured elbow.
She examined the heavy white bandage around her left hand.
Then she looked toward Lorenzo.
Her gaze moved toward the blood staining his shirt.
“Is that mine?”
“Yes.”
She accepted the water.
Her cold fingers touched his warm skin.
Nora drank half before placing the glass down.
“So.”
She rested against the pillows.
Her face remained pale, emphasizing the dark shadows beneath her eyes.
“There were 3 dead men inside the office.”
“Yes.”
“You shot them.”
“I did.”
Nora nodded once.
“Will the police enter here and question me?”
“No.”
Lorenzo spoke with the certainty of a man who controlled the local district.
“There was no attack inside the office.”
His eyes stayed on hers.
“You fell over a wet lobby floor and cut your hand against a broken vase.”
“Carmine has completed the insurance documentation.”
Nora laughed without humor.
“A vase.”
She closed her eyes briefly.
“Of course.”
Her mouth moved slightly.
“I assume the bullet holes inside your desk were caused by termites.”
Lorenzo pulled the chair nearer and sat.
He rested both forearms over his knees and joined his hands.
“You should not have entered.”
“It is my responsibility to bring water.”
“It is your responsibility to answer the telephone.”
The panic from the previous afternoon remained inside Lorenzo’s voice.
“When dangerous men enter the office, you remain behind the bullet-resistant glass surrounding your desk.”
He held her eyes.
“You do not serve sparkling water.”
“I did not know they were armed.”
Nora rubbed her temples and winced.
“They appeared to be men wearing excessive cologne.”
She lowered her hand.
“Look, Lorenzo.”
Her voice became tired.
“I do not understand the rules of your organization.”
“The syndicate.”
“The Mafia.”
Nora looked toward the bandage.
“I needed money for rent.”
“You will not need to consider rent again.”
Nora’s hand stopped.
Her eyes narrowed.
“What does that mean?”
“I am compensating you for the injury.”
Lorenzo looked toward the floor instead of her face.
“Generously.”
He continued.
“Carmine will deposit your salary by noon.”
A pause followed.
“Afterward, I am terminating your employment.”
Silence filled the room.
“You are dismissing me.”
Nora did not sound angry.
Her voice was more dangerous than anger.
“I am protecting you.”
Lorenzo raised his attention.
Nora stared at him.
Exhaustion had disappeared beneath sudden anger.
“You do not have permission to dismiss me.”
She pushed the blankets away.
“Not today.”
“Nora, you were nearly killed.”
“And whose fault was that?”
She moved both legs toward the side of the bed.
“I did not schedule the Russian Mafia for 2:00.”
Nora’s bare feet reached the linoleum.
“My telephone has been ringing throughout the morning.”
She looked directly at Lorenzo.
“The pharmacy called.”
Her voice became sharper.
“My mother’s medication has no copayment.”
“It has been paid indefinitely by an anonymous donor.”
Nora pointed toward him.
Her finger shook, though not from fear.
“You purchased my mother’s medication.”
Lorenzo’s jaw tightened.
“It was a small expenditure.”
“It is $4,000 each month.”
Nora attempted to stand.
“That is not small.”
Her expression became furious.
“That is a hostage arrangement.”
Lorenzo stood and moved closer to prevent her from rising.
“You do not get to enter my life, solve its most terrifying problem with your blood-covered hand, and then dismiss me to ease your conscience.”
“You owe me nothing.”
His voice became firm.
“I did it because I chose to.”
He looked down at her.
“You were distracted.”
“I require an assistant who does not fall asleep over the keyboard.”
“You are keeping me.”
Nora stared upward.
They were too close.
Hospital antiseptic surrounded them, but Lorenzo could smell the inexpensive lavender shampoo inside her hair.
“I need the medical coverage.”
“I need the salary.”
Nora continued.
“Your office records are also a disaster.”
Her voice returned to its ordinary dry rhythm.
“If I leave, Carmine will organize the shipping manifest alphabetically again.”
She lifted 1 eyebrow.
“You will probably shoot him.”
Lorenzo stared.
He was accustomed to absolute obedience.
He gave orders and expected the world to rearrange itself.
The woman before him weighed approximately 120 lb, slept too little, and wore inexpensive clothing.
She remained unimpressed by his authority, violence, or money.
Lorenzo reached toward her without thinking.
His thumb moved across her cheekbone and removed a mark of dried dirt.
Nora stopped breathing.
“You are exceptionally stubborn.”
His voice lowered.
“I am practical.”
She did not retreat from the contact.
“I can manage several dead Russians.”
Her eyes stayed over his.
“I cannot manage losing my mother.”
Lorenzo lowered his hand.
Her warmth remained over his fingers.
He moved backward, rebuilding the distance between them.
“One week of paid leave.”
The words became an order.
“Then you return.”
Lorenzo looked toward the clock.
“If you arrive late, I will reduce your wages.”
May you like
A small, uneven smile appeared over Nora’s mouth.
“I will make certain the subway grate does not consume my shoe.”
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