Chapter 2
“Greg will not be using a doorknob for approximately 6 months.”
His voice remained cold.
“And the Bertinellis will collect from whoever remains in that bed.”
“I’ll manage.”
“You’ll die.”
There was no pity in the correction.
Only fact.
Lorenzo removed his phone.
“But not tonight.”
He pressed a button beneath the desk.
A soft signal sounded outside.
Less than 10 seconds later, Vincent entered.
“Bring the car to the private garage.”
Lorenzo’s voice became clipped.
“Call Wyatt.”
“Tell him to meet us at the house in 20 minutes.”
He continued.
“Concussion kit.”
“Anything required for deep bruising and lacerations.”
Vincent nodded and left.
The woman still held the empty tumbler.
“I can’t afford a private physician.”
“I didn’t ask whether you could.”
Lorenzo put on his jacket.
“Stand.”
She pushed herself up.
Pain from the ribs made her inhale sharply.
Her balance failed briefly.
Lorenzo crossed the room.
He did not seize her.
He simply stood close enough that if she collapsed, she would hit him rather than the floor.
“Breathe through your nose.”
He spoke quietly.
“Watch the door.”
She nodded.
They left the office.
Lorenzo avoided the mezzanine and dining room.
Instead, he guided her down a narrow service corridor smelling of cleaning chemicals and wine.
At the end was a steel door.
Lorenzo entered a code.
The door opened onto an underground garage.
Cold concrete.
Gasoline.
A black armored Maybach waited with its engine running.
Thomas, a tall man with a broken nose wearing a gray suit, opened the rear door.
The woman entered.
Lorenzo sat beside her, leaving approximately 1 ft of space between them.
The door shut heavily.
The city became distant behind the armored glass.
As the Maybach traveled through wet streets, she watched the light distort across the rain.
Greg was gone.
The Bertinellis wanted $60,000.
And she was sitting beside Lorenzo Costa.
“You don’t even know my name.”
Her voice was barely audible.
“Nora.”
Lorenzo remained focused on his phone.
“Nora Hayes.”
He continued.
“32.”
“You work as a junior accountant for a downtown logistics company.”
Nora turned toward him.
“You lived with Greg Fowler for 2 years.”
Lorenzo swiped across the screen.
“Before tonight, he hit you at least 3 times badly enough to require medical attention.”
Nora stopped breathing.
“You told emergency-room staff the injuries came from a staircase, a car door, and a cabinet.”
“How do you know that?”
Lorenzo finally looked up.
“I run a complicated organization.”
His expression remained calm.
“Information is the only currency that matters.”
He put the phone away.
“When someone attacks a woman in my restaurant, my people identify him before he reaches the alley.”
“His background led to yours.”
“You accessed my medical records in 10 minutes?”
“I pay people extraordinary amounts of money to be thorough.”
He looked toward the window.
“The Bertinellis are already searching for him.”
Nora’s face changed.
“One of their collectors reached your apartment approximately 10 minutes ago.”
He turned back.
“They kicked the door in.”
Nora shut her eyes.
Her breathing tightened.
Her fingers dug into the leather armrest.
If she had gone home, they would have been waiting.
“Breathe.”
Lorenzo’s command anchored the moment.
Nora opened her eye.
“Why are you doing this?”
Her voice cracked.
“You already dealt with Greg.”
“You protected the restaurant.”
She looked at him.
“You don’t owe me anything.”
“If you take me with you, you become responsible for me.”
“I am responsible for what happens beneath my roof.”
Lorenzo answered simply.
“Greg brought a disease into my establishment.”
“He also brought the Bertinellis’ filth to my door.”
His gaze moved back to the city.
“I am cleaning the mess.”
“I’m a mess?”
“You’re collateral damage.”
Lorenzo corrected her.
“And I do not leave collateral damage for street trash to finish.”
20 minutes later, the Maybach passed through wrought-iron gates and stopped before a modern estate built from stone and glass.
Wyatt was waiting inside.
He was lean, in his 50s, and carried an old leather medical bag.
He led Nora to a bright guest room on the 1st floor.
Lorenzo remained at the doorway while Wyatt worked.
The doctor cleaned the blood from her face.
Stitched the split lip.
Examined the bruised ribs.
Nora made no sound.
Her breathing changed when he touched the injuries, but she refused to cry.
When Wyatt finished, he closed his bag.
“Mild concussion.”
He looked toward Lorenzo.
“2 cracked ribs.”
“The lip should heal cleanly if she leaves the stitches alone.”
He continued.
“Rest.”
“Ice.”
“Pain medication.”
“Thank you, Wyatt.”
Lorenzo dismissed him with a nod.
Nora remained on the edge of the bed.
The white dressing stood out against the bruising.
“Sleep.”
Lorenzo turned toward the door.
“There is a guard outside the window.”
“Another at the end of this hallway.”
He looked back.
“The door locks from inside.”
A pause.
“No one is reaching you here.”
Nora stared at her hands.
“What happens tomorrow?”
Lorenzo opened the door.
“Tomorrow we find out exactly what the Bertinellis think your life is worth.”
Nora woke to rain and strong coffee.
Her right eye opened.
The left remained swollen shut.
For several moments she remained still, orienting herself.
Firm mattress.
Heavy sheets.
Gray storm light coming through floor-to-ceiling windows.
Then the previous night returned.
Le Clovis.
Greg’s fist.
The marble floor.
Lorenzo Costa.
Nora attempted to sit.
Pain from her ribs cut through her and forced her back down.
She waited.
Then rolled onto her side and slowly pushed herself upright.
Someone had left clothes on an armchair.
An oversized gray cashmere sweater.
Loose cotton trousers.
Her blood- and wine-stained clothes were gone.
Nora dressed carefully.
Then opened the bedroom door.
The hallway was quiet and expensive without being ostentatious.
She followed voices until she reached a large open kitchen.
Dark granite counters.
Brushed steel appliances.
Lorenzo sat at the island with a tablet and black coffee.
He wore dark trousers and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
A faded tattoo curled around his left wrist.
Vincent stood near the refrigerator with a phone.
He saw Nora first and stopped speaking.
Lorenzo looked up.
His expression remained unreadable.
His eyes took in the way she protected her ribs.
The bruising.
The bandaged lip.
“Sit.”
He indicated the stool across from him.
Nora lowered herself carefully.
Vincent poured coffee and pushed it toward her.
She wrapped both hands around the cup.
“How are the ribs?”
Lorenzo looked at the tablet.
“They hurt.”
Nora answered honestly.
“But I can breathe.”
“Good.”
He turned the tablet around.
A grainy street-camera image showed Nora’s apartment building.
3 men stood near the entrance.
1 carried a crowbar.
“4:00 this morning.”
Lorenzo drank his coffee.
“The Bertinellis realized Greg was not returning.”
“They also discovered his car remained at his office.”
He nodded toward the image.
“They assumed he ran.”
“And assumed you knew where.”
Nora stared at the photograph.
“They destroyed the apartment?”
“Down to the floorboards.”
Vincent answered from across the room.
“They were searching for money or records.”
“They found nothing.”
“I don’t know where Greg is.”
Nora looked at Lorenzo.
“I swear.”
“He never told me about the debt until yesterday.”
“And I have no idea where he went after your men removed him.”
“I know.”
Lorenzo pulled the tablet back.
“And I do not care where he is.”
He continued.
“Greg is effectively gone.”
“But the Bertinellis are missing $60,000.”
“They need someone to punish for it.”
Nora tightened her grip around the coffee cup.
“So I’m the collateral.”
“You were.”
Lorenzo looked directly at her.
“Until you entered my car.”
Nora waited.
“I called Carlo Bertinelli 1 hour ago.”
Lorenzo rested his forearms on the granite.
“I told him you are under my protection.”
Her expression changed.
“I told him Greg Fowler’s debt is no longer yours.”
“You told them to leave me alone?”
“I told them that coming near you means dealing with me.”
Lorenzo’s tone remained flat.
“There is a difference.”
He continued.
“The Bertinellis are violent.”
“They are not suicidal.”
“A war with my family over $60,000 would destroy them financially and literally.”
“They agreed to stop pursuing you.”
Relief hit Nora hard enough that she closed her eyes.
Her shoulders lowered.
“Thank you.”
Her breath shook.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t.”
Lorenzo’s tone changed.
Nora opened her eye.
He leaned closer.
“Nothing in my world is free.”
The temporary sense of safety disappeared.
“I do not run a charity.”
He looked at her.
“And I do not keep liabilities beneath my roof without compensation.”
Nora straightened despite the pain.
“What do you want?”
Her voice tightened.
“I don’t have money.”
“I don’t own anything.”
“If money were the issue, I would have let them take you.”
Lorenzo ignored the way she flinched.
“I want compliance.”
“You are still a loose end between 2 factions.”
He continued.
“If the Bertinellis see you alone, they may decide pride matters more than logic.”
Nora stared at him.
“You remain vulnerable.”
“What exactly are you saying?”
“You stay here.”
Lorenzo’s eyes locked onto hers.
“You do not leave the property.”
“You do not contact your job.”
“You do not call friends.”
“You remain within these walls under my protection until I am satisfied the Bertinellis have moved on.”
“For how long?”
“Until I decide otherwise.”
His answer was immediate.
“You trade freedom for survival.”
Lorenzo leaned back.
May you like
“That is the price.”
Disclaimer: This story is fictional and created for entertainment purposes only. Any names, characters, places, or events are fictitious or used fictitiously. No real person or organization is intended to be portrayed.
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