Chapter 5 - The Trap at the PierThe enemy thinks they can break a Don by targeting his weakness, but they forget that a protected woman becomes his deadliest weapon.
Two weeks passed.
My quiet life as a waitress was completely erased. Lorenzo moved me into his private brownstone in Manhattan—a heavily guarded fortress with bulletproof glass and around-the-clock security.
I wasn't a prisoner; I was treated like a queen. Lorenzo showered me with tailored clothes, private tutors for Matteo, and quiet, passionate nights where he held me as if I were the only precious thing left in his blood-soaked world.
But the war with the Moretti family was reaching a boiling point.
Elder Don Moretti—a ruthless mob boss who had ruled the Brooklyn docks for thirty years—refused to accept Lorenzo’s dominance. He wanted the Vitale shipping routes, and he wanted revenge for the failed hit at the Long Island estate.
On a rainy Tuesday afternoon, Lorenzo was summoned to a neutral-ground sit-down at Pier 42 in Brooklyn.
"It's a setup, Lorenzo," I said, standing in his private study, fixing his silk tie as he armed himself with two concealed pistols. "Moretti won't honor a truce."
Lorenzo looked down at me, his dark eyes filled with absolute softness as he cupped my chin. "I know it's a trap, Maya. That's why I'm going."
"Then let me come," I said firmly.
Lorenzo froze, his brows furrowing into a dark line. "Absolutely not. It's too dangerous."
"Listen to me," I urged, holding his lapels tightly. "Moretti knows who I am now. His spies have seen me at the brownstone. If you go alone with your guards, he will assume you are walking into a trap. But if you bring me—if you play the role of the arrogant Don bringing his mistress to a victory negotiation—his guard will drop."
"I will never use you as bait, Maya!" Lorenzo snapped, his voice rising in anger. "I swore to protect you!"
"I'm not bait, Lorenzo," I said, my eyes shining with unbreakable resolve. "I'm your partner. You taught me how to handle a firearm last week. Trust me."
Lorenzo stared at me for a long, heavy moment. The fierce, stubborn waitress who had comforted his son in Central Park had transformed into a formidable woman who stood beside him without fear.
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A slow, proud smile touched his lips. He reached into his desk drawer, pulling out a small, pearl-handled snub-nosed revolver, sliding it into the concealed pocket of my trench coat.
"One mistake, Maya," Lorenzo whispered, kissing my forehead fiercely, "and I destroy the entire city."
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