Chapter 2 - The Mafia Boss Who Wanted to Know Why I Had Refused His MoneyLorenzo's penthouse was nothing like I imagined.
I expected darkness.
Weapons.
Men screaming into phones.
Instead, it was quiet.
Almost too quiet.
Glass walls overlooked Chicago.
The city lights shimmered below.
Art hung on the walls.
No visible security.
Which meant the security was probably hidden.
Lorenzo walked toward a long dining table.
“Sit.”
I remained standing.
“I'd rather know why I'm here first.”
He turned.
“You saved my life.”
“You already paid me.”
“I offered you money.”
“You threw it at me.”
“That counts.”
“I don't want your money.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Why?”
“Because I did my job.”
“You did something no one else could.”
“You were lucky.”
“No.”
He touched the wound.
“You were good.”
I said nothing.
He poured water.
“Drink.”
“I’m not thirsty.”
“I wasn't asking.”
I took the glass.
“Thank you.”
He smiled faintly.
“There.”
“What?”
“You can follow instructions.”
I glared.
“I followed your instructions while you were bleeding.”
“Exactly.”
He sat.
I remained across from him.
“Who shot you?”
“That's classified.”
“You're a criminal.”
“Yes.”
The bluntness surprised me.
“What do you want from me?”
“I want to understand.”
“Understand what?”
“You.”
I laughed.
“You kidnapped me to interview me?”
“I brought you somewhere safe.”
“From whom?”
He didn't answer.
Instead, he pushed a folder toward me.
My name was on it.
My medical records.
My address.
My father's records.
My mother's records.
I felt cold.
“You investigated me.”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Six hours.”
“That's terrifying.”
“I'm efficient.”
I opened the folder.
A photograph of my father.
Another of my mother.
Another of my childhood home.
I looked up.
“What does my father have to do with this?”
Lorenzo became still.
“Your father worked for my father.”
I stared.
“My father was an accountant.”
“That was his public job.”
“What was his real one?”
“Financial strategist.”
I swallowed.
“What does that mean?”
“He handled money.”
“Legal money?”
“Some.”
“Illegal money?”
“Most.”
My stomach turned.
“My father wasn't a criminal.”
“He wasn't.”
“Then why work for your family?”
“Because he believed he could control the system.”
“What happened?”
“He disappeared.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
I looked at him.
“My mother said he ran away.”
Lorenzo shook his head.
“He didn't.”
“What happened?”
“He found something.”
“What?”
“The Moretti empire was being robbed.”
“By whom?”
“I don't know.”
“Then why bring me here?”
“Because someone thinks you know.”
I froze.
“I don't.”
“I believe you.”
“Then let me go.”
“I can't.”
“Why?”
“Because the people looking for you don't believe you.”
He stood.
Walked toward the window.
“You treated me at an illegal clinic.”
“You saw my face.”
“You know I'm Moretti.”
“And now you're a witness.”
“To what?”
“My enemies.”
I stared.
“I'm not involved.”
“Not yet.”
I hated that sentence.
Lorenzo turned.
“Your father left a message.”
“What message?”
“He said if anything happened to him, you would be safer away from the Moretti family.”
I frowned.
“How do you know?”
“Because he told my father.”
“When?”
“Six months before he disappeared.”
I felt dizzy.
“My father knew your family.”
“Yes.”
“And you knew him.”
“I was twelve.”
“What did he look like?”
Lorenzo opened another file.
A photograph.
My father standing beside Lorenzo's father.
They were shaking hands.
I had never seen it.
“What was this?”
“Contract signing.”
“Between them?”
“Your father helped structure the Moretti shipping network.”
I looked at the photograph.
“Why would he tell me he was an accountant?”
“Because he wanted you to have a normal life.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Normal.”
Lorenzo's expression changed.
“You've been treating people illegally at night.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I followed the money.”
“My father's debts.”
“Yes.”
“You know about those too?”
“I know how much you owe.”
I looked away.
“How much?”
“Enough.”
I hated that he had found every weakness.
Then he said something unexpected.
“I can clear it.”
“No.”
“You didn't let me finish.”
“I don't want anything from you.”
“I wasn't offering money.”
“Then what?”
“Protection.”
“I can protect myself.”
“You can't.”
“That sounds insulting.”
“It's factual.”
He moved closer.
“You've spent years surviving.”
“Don't turn that into weakness.”
“I don't.”
His voice softened.
“I admire it.”
I stared.
He looked at me for several seconds.
Then:
“You can leave tomorrow.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“What changes?”
“You stay in the penthouse tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because someone is already watching your apartment.”
My blood ran cold.
“What?”
He handed me a photograph.
My building.
Taken that afternoon.
A man in a gray coat stood outside.
I recognized him.
He had been near the hospital.
Lorenzo said:
“They followed you.”
I stared at the photograph.
“Who are they?”
He shook his head.
“We'll know by morning.”
I sat.
For the first time, I stopped arguing.
That night, I slept in a guest room.
At 3:07 a.m., I woke to shouting.
I stepped into the hallway.
A man was being dragged through the living room.
Blood covered his face.
Lorenzo stood nearby.
The prisoner looked at me.
His eyes widened.
“That's her.”
Lorenzo turned.
“Who?”
“The doctor's daughter.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
The prisoner smiled.
“Her father hid it.”
Lorenzo walked toward him.
“Where?”
The man laughed.
“Ask her.”
I looked at Lorenzo.
“What is he talking about?”
The prisoner whispered:
“Your father stole something.”
May you like
Then he smiled.
“Something worth enough to start a war.”
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