Chapter 2 - The House of WolvesAnna Bennett realized that accepting Lorenzo Moretti’s offer and understanding what it actually meant were two entirely different things.
The Maybach crossed the Queensboro Bridge shortly after midnight.
Manhattan glittered behind them, its towers rising from the darkness like illuminated monuments to money, ambition, and carefully concealed sin.
Anna sat against the black leather seat with Lorenzo’s cashmere coat still wrapped around her shoulders.
There was dried plaster in her hair.
A thin scratch crossed the back of her left hand.
Her knees had finally stopped shaking.
That was the only improvement.
Less than three hours earlier, she had been standing behind the concierge desk at the Baccarat Hotel wondering whether she could convince Mr. Davis to approve her vacation request before Christmas.
Now three men were dead.
Don Vincenzo Russo was presumably about to become international freight.
And Anna was riding home with the man responsible.
She turned toward Lorenzo.
“Where exactly is home?”
He had been reading messages on his phone.
He looked up.
“My house.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
“It was exactly what you asked.”
Anna narrowed her eyes.
Lorenzo returned his attention to the phone.
The gesture irritated her more than it should have.
“Do all crime bosses deliberately misunderstand questions, or is that a personal talent?”
His thumb stopped moving.
Slowly, he looked at her again.
“You have known me for approximately four hours.”
“And?”
“You have insulted me in two languages, accused me of kidnapping you, called me a monster, and questioned my intelligence.”
A pause.
“I’m beginning to understand why hospitality suited you.”
Anna folded her arms.
“You threatened to kill me.”
“I was motivating you.”
“That is not how employee motivation works.”
“It works extremely well in my organization.”
Despite herself, Anna almost laughed.
She stopped the reaction before it escaped.
Lorenzo noticed anyway.
Something shifted at the corner of his mouth.
The Maybach left the bridge and continued north through Queens.
Anna watched the city change outside the window.
Buildings became lower.
Traffic thinned.
Eventually the crowded streets gave way to quieter roads.
“You live outside Manhattan?”
“I have several residences.”
“Of course you do.”
“The one we are going to is in Sands Point.”
Anna turned sharply.
“Sands Point?”
Lorenzo nodded.
She knew enough about Long Island real estate to understand what that meant.
The North Shore.
Old estates.
Gated properties.
Homes where the annual property tax probably exceeded her salary.
“You could have just taken me to my apartment.”
“No.”
The answer was immediate.
Anna stared at him.
“You said I was free.”
“You are.”
“That sounded remarkably like the opposite.”
Lorenzo put his phone away.
“Vincenzo Russo died tonight.”
“You made that very clear.”
“His men will discover that fact before sunrise.”
He leaned back.
“Some will blame me. Some will blame his sons. Others will believe you deliberately lured him into a trap.”
Anna’s stomach tightened.
“I did nothing.”
“Facts have very little influence on revenge.”
He studied her expression.
“Your apartment is no longer secure.”
“How do you even know where I live?”
Lorenzo said nothing.
Anna stared at him.
“Right.”
She looked out the window again.
“Stupid question.”
Twenty minutes later, the Maybach turned onto a private road.
Tall iron gates appeared between stone pillars.
There was no visible sign.
No family crest.
No name.
Only cameras.
The gates opened before the vehicle stopped.
Anna leaned toward the glass.
Beyond them stretched nearly half a mile of manicured grounds.
Bare November trees lined the driveway.
Security lights were positioned discreetly between hedges.
Men in dark clothing occupied two separate guard stations.
The house appeared gradually through the trees.
Anna expected vulgarity.
Marble lions.
Golden fountains.
Some monstrous monument built by a man desperate to prove he possessed money.
Instead, Lorenzo Moretti lived in a Georgian mansion of dark brick and limestone overlooking Long Island Sound.
It was enormous without appearing ostentatious.
Which somehow made it more intimidating.
The Maybach stopped beneath a covered entrance.
Leo was already there.
Anna had not noticed when his vehicle passed them.
He opened Lorenzo’s door.
“Everything at the club is handled.”
Lorenzo stepped out.
“Russo?”
“Gone.”
“Witnesses?”
“None who matter.”
Anna remained seated.
Leo looked toward her.
His expression was unreadable.
Lorenzo walked around the car himself and opened Anna’s door.
She looked at the hand he offered.
“Do you always do that?”
“Do what?”
“Open doors for women after ordering executions?”
Leo coughed.
It sounded suspiciously like a laugh.
Lorenzo glanced toward him.
Leo immediately became fascinated by the driveway.
Then Lorenzo returned his attention to Anna.
“My mother would be disappointed if I didn’t.”
Anna stared at him for another second.
Then she took his hand.
His fingers closed around hers.
Warm.
Steady.
He helped her from the vehicle.
The moment her shoes touched the pavement, exhaustion swept through her.
She swayed.
Lorenzo’s hand moved immediately to her waist.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’ve been awake since five.”
“You’re still lying.”
She looked up at him.
His face was only inches away.
“I don’t like people deciding what I feel.”
“Then stop making it so obvious.”
Before Anna could answer, the front doors opened.
A woman in her early sixties appeared.
She wore a simple navy dress and silver glasses.
Her gray hair was gathered neatly at the back of her head.
She looked at Lorenzo.
Then Anna.
Then Lorenzo’s coat around Anna’s shoulders.
One eyebrow rose.
“Interesting.”
Lorenzo sighed.
“Good evening, Teresa.”
“It is twelve forty-three in the morning.”
“Yes.”
“You missed dinner.”
“I was occupied.”
Teresa looked at the plaster in Anna’s hair.
“I can see that.”
Anna suddenly felt like a teenager caught returning home after curfew.
Lorenzo gestured toward her.
“Teresa Bellini. She manages the house.”
Teresa extended a hand.
“Anna Bennett.”
Anna shook it.
“Nice to meet you.”
Teresa’s eyes sharpened slightly when she heard the surname.
Only slightly.
But Anna noticed.
Apparently everyone in Lorenzo’s world knew more about her family than she did.
“Come inside,” Teresa said.
“You look frozen.”
The foyer was magnificent.
Black-and-white marble covered the floor.
A sweeping staircase curved toward the second level.
Oil paintings lined cream-colored walls.
But unlike a hotel lobby, the room felt lived in.
A pair of reading glasses rested beside an open book on a side table.
A half-finished chess game occupied a corner near the fireplace.
Fresh flowers stood in an antique ceramic vase.
Anna looked around.
“This isn’t what I expected.”
Lorenzo handed his gloves to Teresa.
“What did you expect?”
“Something between Dracula’s castle and a Bond villain’s volcano.”
Teresa laughed openly.
Lorenzo stared at Anna.
“There is still time to throw you into the ocean.”
“See?”
Anna pointed toward him.
“That.”
Teresa took Anna gently by the arm.
“Come with me before he remembers he has a reputation.”
For the first time that night, Anna willingly followed someone.
Teresa led her upstairs.
The guest suite was larger than Anna’s entire apartment.
A king-size bed stood beneath tall windows overlooking the dark water.
There was a fireplace.
A sitting room.
A dressing room.
A bathroom covered in pale marble.
Anna stopped in the doorway.
“This is ridiculous.”
Teresa placed fresh towels on the bed.
“Mr. Moretti believes moderation is a character flaw.”
“I heard that.”
Lorenzo’s voice came from the hallway.
Anna turned.
He had removed his jacket.
The white dress shirt beneath it was stained near the cuff.
Blood.
Anna’s expression changed.
“Are you hurt?”
Lorenzo glanced at the stain.
“Not mine.”
The answer should have reassured her.
It did not.
Teresa looked between them.
“I’ll find something for Miss Bennett to sleep in.”
When she left, Anna and Lorenzo remained alone.
Silence filled the room.
For the first time since the shooting, there were no bodyguards.
No driver.
No hotel employees.
No armed enemies.
Just them.
Anna removed Lorenzo’s coat.
She folded it carefully over the back of a chair.
“What happens tomorrow?”
Lorenzo leaned against the doorframe.
“Breakfast.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“After breakfast.”
“You begin working.”
Anna laughed once.
“You actually meant that?”
“I rarely say things I don’t mean.”
“I don’t know anything about your business.”
“You know languages.”
“So do millions of people.”
“You know people.”
That stopped her.
Lorenzo stepped into the room.
“You identified Russo’s assassination order from an idiom no professional interpreter I employ would have recognized.”
“He was from my world.”
“Exactly.”
Lorenzo came closer.
“You understand that world even though you have spent ten years pretending you don’t.”
Anna’s jaw tightened.
“My father died because of that world.”
“Your father died because he stole money from men who kill people for stealing money.”
“That distinction probably comforts you.”
“No.”
His expression became harder.
“But accuracy matters.”
Anna looked away.
On the nightstand was a crystal glass filled with water.
She picked it up because she needed something to do with her hands.
“What would I actually be doing?”
“Translation at first.”
“At first?”
“Meetings. Calls. Documents.”
“And later?”
“That depends on you.”
Anna drank.
“Salary?”
Lorenzo named a number.
She choked on the water.
He waited.
Anna wiped her mouth.
“That’s per year?”
“Per month.”
She stared at him.
“You’re insane.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
“That’s almost four times what I make in a year.”
“Yes.”
“For translating?”
“For discretion.”
His gaze became colder.
“For loyalty.”
There it was.
The real contract.
Anna placed the glass down.
“And if I decide tomorrow that I don’t want it?”
“A car will take you wherever you wish.”
“No consequences?”
“None from me.”
She searched his face.
She had spent years reading wealthy men.
Their eyes.
Their posture.
The tiny movements that exposed lies before words did.
Lorenzo Moretti was more difficult than anyone she had ever encountered.
But she believed him.
That frightened her more than if she had caught him lying.
“Why me?”
“I already told you.”
“No.”
Anna shook her head.
“You told me why you needed me tonight.”
She stepped closer.
“Why keep me?”
Lorenzo became very still.
The question remained between them.
Then he answered.
“Because you surprised me.”
Anna blinked.
“That’s it?”
“No one surprises me.”
His voice lowered.
“Not anymore.”
Something changed in the room.
Anna suddenly became conscious of how close they were standing.
Lorenzo’s shirt collar was open.
A faint scar crossed the base of his throat.
There were others on his hands.
Small pale lines.
Evidence of a history he had not explained.
His eyes moved over her face.
“You should sleep.”
Anna nodded.
Neither moved.
Then Lorenzo lifted one hand.
For a moment, she thought he was going to touch her.
Instead, he reached past her and removed something from her hair.
A small fragment of plaster.
He held it between two fingers.
“Souvenir.”
Anna looked at it.
Then at him.
“Keep it.”
Lorenzo dropped it onto the dresser.
He turned toward the door.
“Good night, Anna.”
“Lorenzo.”
He stopped.
It was the first time she had used his first name.
He looked back.
“Thank you.”
The words were difficult.
“For pulling me down when the shooting started.”
His expression softened almost imperceptibly.
“You saved me first.”
Then he left.
Anna locked the door behind him.
She checked it twice.
Ten minutes later, Teresa returned with pajamas and toiletries.
Anna showered until the water stopped carrying dust and the imagined smell of blood from her skin.
She climbed into bed.
She expected nightmares.
Instead, exhaustion took her instantly.
She woke at 3:17 a.m.
Not because of a dream.
Because someone was trying to open her door.
Anna sat upright.
The handle moved once.
Stopped.
Moved again.
She slipped from the bed.
Her heart began pounding.
There was no weapon in the room.
She grabbed the heavy brass candlestick from the nightstand.
The handle stopped moving.
Silence.
Anna waited.
Then came three quiet knocks.
“Miss Bennett?”
Leo.
Anna did not lower the candlestick.
“What?”
“Open the door.”
“Why?”
A pause.
“Because we have a problem.”
Anna approached carefully.
“What problem?”
Leo’s answer came through the wood.
“Someone entered your apartment in Manhattan twenty minutes ago.”
Her blood went cold.
She unlocked the door.
Leo stood outside with a phone in his hand.
Lorenzo was behind him.
Fully dressed.
Fully awake.
His face was colder than she had ever seen it.
Leo handed Anna the phone.
A security photograph filled the screen.
Her apartment door had been broken open.
The living room was destroyed.
Drawers overturned.
Furniture slashed.
And across the wall above her sofa, someone had painted four words in red.
IL DEBITO NON MUORE.
The debt does not die.
Anna stared at the image.
Her fingers began trembling.
“Russo?”
“No.”
Lorenzo’s answer was immediate.
Anna looked at him.
“How do you know?”
“Because Vincenzo’s surviving sons are currently trying to determine which one of them gets to inherit what remains of his organization.”
He took the phone from her.
“This is someone else.”
Anna tightened her grip on the candlestick.
“Who?”
Lorenzo looked at the message again.
When he raised his eyes, there was something she had not seen before.
Concern.
Real concern.
“I don’t know.”
For Lorenzo Moretti, those three words seemed almost impossible.
Anna suddenly understood something worse.
The most dangerous man she had ever met was worried.
And whoever had broken into her apartment had known exactly where she lived less than three hours after Russo died.
Lorenzo stepped into the room.
“Pack nothing.”
Anna stared at him.
“You’re staying here.”
“That sounded like another order.”
“It is.”
“You promised I was free.”
“I promised the Russo family wouldn’t touch you.”
His voice became quiet.
“I said nothing about allowing an unidentified enemy to put a bullet through your bedroom window.”
Anna lifted her chin.
“I’m not a prisoner.”
“No.”
Lorenzo looked directly at her.
“You are under my protection.”
“What’s the difference?”
He stepped closer.
The space between them disappeared.
“A prisoner is kept somewhere because the man outside the door wants her trapped.”
His eyes darkened.
“A protected woman stays because every man outside that door understands what happens if he touches her.”
Anna’s pulse quickened.
“And what happens?”
Lorenzo’s gaze did not leave hers.
“I burn down everything he loves.”
Neither of them spoke.
Leo cleared his throat from the hallway.
“Boss.”
Lorenzo looked back.
“We found something else.”
“What?”
“The camera across from her building caught the vehicle.”
Leo turned the phone around.
A grainy photograph showed a black SUV.
The license plate was unreadable.
But on the rear window was a small white symbol.
Anna leaned closer.
Her stomach dropped.
She knew it.
A serpent wrapped around a cross.
Lorenzo saw her reaction.
“You recognize it.”
Anna stepped backward.
“No.”
“You do.”
She shook her head.
The room suddenly felt too small.
“That symbol…”
Her voice weakened.
“My father used to draw it.”
Lorenzo’s face changed.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
Anna pressed a hand against her forehead.
“He had a notebook.”
Memories returned in fragments.
Her father at the kitchen table.
Cigarette smoke.
Columns of numbers.
Names written in code.
And that symbol appearing again and again in the margins.
“He told me it was nothing.”
Lorenzo and Leo exchanged a glance.
Anna noticed.
“What?”
Neither answered.
“What does it mean?”
Lorenzo finally spoke.
“The symbol belongs to an organization called the Black Cross.”
Anna waited.
“And?”
“The Moretti family has been looking for them for nineteen years.”
“Why?”
May you like
Lorenzo’s jaw tightened.
“Because they murdered my father.”
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