The waitress passed a note to the mafia boss — “Your fiancée has set a trap. Leave now.”

A Knock at the Door

Knock. Knock. Knock. The sound was polite, controlled, and terrifying.

Barber froze and looked at Toby, who went pale.

“Barber,”

a voice called from the hallway.

It wasn’t the goons from the subway; this voice was deeper and richer.

“Open the door, Ms. Vance.”

She knew that voice. She had heard it order a Macallan 25 an hour ago.

She crept to the peephole. Standing in the flickering fluorescent light of her hallway, flanked by four armed guards, was Lorenzo Moretti.

He was still wearing his suit, which was dusted with ash. There was a smear of blood on his collar—not his.

“Go away!”

she shouted through the door.

“I called the police!”

“We own the police,”

Lorenzo replied calmly.

“And Dante Russo’s hit squad is currently coming up the fire escape. You have about thirty seconds before they breach your window.”

Crash! Glass shattered in the back bedroom.

Toby screamed. Barber didn’t think; she unlocked the front door and threw it open.

Lorenzo stood there, a towering figure of darkness.

“Help us,”

she gasped.

Lorenzo didn’t hesitate. He stepped inside, raising a silver pistol with a silencer.

Two men in ski masks burst from the bedroom with weapons raised.

Puff! Puff!

Lorenzo fired twice—two clean shots to the chest. The intruders dropped before they could even aim at Toby.

Lorenzo lowered the gun, turning to Barber. The smell of gunpowder and expensive cologne filled the tiny apartment.

“I told you,”

Lorenzo said, his eyes scanning her face for injuries.

“You saved my life, Barber. Now let me save yours.”

He gestured to Marcus.

“Get the boy. We move to the safe house now.”

Barber watched as the massive bodyguard gently lifted Toby, wheelchair and all. Lorenzo held out a hand to her; it was large, scarred, and steady.

“Come with me,”

he said.

“Or stay here and die. The choice is yours.”

Barber looked at her shattered window, the dead bodies on her floor, and then at the hand of the devil himself. She took it.

The Fortress in the Hamptons

The drive was silent, a blur of rain-streaked windows and adrenaline crashing into exhaustion. Barber sat in the back of the armored SUV, clutching Toby’s hand so tight her knuckles turned white.

Lorenzo sat opposite them, typing on a secure tablet, his face illuminated by the blue light. He looked calm—terrifyingly calm for a man who had just executed two people in a Queens apartment.

The safe house wasn’t a house; it was a fortress located on a private cliffside estate in the Hamptons, two hours from the city. It was a sprawling mansion of glass and steel, surrounded by twelve-foot walls and patrolled by men with assault rifles.

“Welcome home,”

Lorenzo said dryly as the iron gates groaned open.

“This isn’t home,”

Barber snapped, finding a sudden spark of courage.

“This is a prison.”

Lorenzo closed his tablet and looked at her, his eyes dark, unreadable pools.

“A prison keeps you in. A fortress keeps them out.”

“Out there, Barber, you are a loose end. You are the waitress who saw too much. Dante Russo doesn’t leave witnesses. Here, you are a guest.”

The car stopped. Staff, efficient and armed, swarmed the vehicle.

They helped Toby into a wheelchair ramp that seemed to appear out of nowhere.

“Take the boy to the East Wing,”

Lorenzo ordered.

“Dr. Aris is waiting. Full work-up. I want to know about his condition.”

“No!”

Barber lunged forward, blocking the staff.

“You are not taking him anywhere. I go where he goes.”

Lorenzo stepped out of the car, towering over her. The rain matted his dark hair to his forehead, making him look less like a businessman and more like a predator.

He stepped close, crowding her space and forcing her to look up at him.

“Barber,”

he said, his voice low and vibrating in her chest.

“My medical team is the best in the world. They treat bullet wounds, shrapnel, and trauma. Your brother has cerebral palsy, correct? And recent muscle atrophy?”

Barber blinked, stunned.

“How—how do you know that?”

“I know everything,”

Lorenzo said simply.

“I had a dossier on you the moment you left the restaurant. I know you work double shifts. I know you’re behind on rent. I know you’ve been denied the grant for his surgery three times.”

He leaned in, his lips inches from her ear.

“Dr. Aris is a neurosurgeon, one of the top three in the country. He’s on my payroll because he owes me a life. Let him help your brother, or you can take Toby back to Queens and wait for Dante to burn your building down. Choose, Barber.”

Barber looked at Toby. He looked scared, but he also looked tired—so incredibly tired of the pain.

She swallowed her pride.

“If you hurt him—”

“I don’t hurt children,”

Lorenzo said, straightening his cuffs.

“I only hurt people who deserve it. Follow Marcus. He will show you to your room. We will speak at dinner.”