Chapter 7 - The Meeting At Warehouse Twelve
The morning fog hung thick and gray over the East River, wrapping around the rusted cranes and corrugated iron roofs of the Brooklyn shipping terminals. The air smelled of salt water, diesel exhaust, and cold metal.
Six black armored SUVs were parked in a wide semicircle inside warehouse twelve. Two dozen armed enforcers stood shoulder-to-shoulder, their dark coats hiding automatic weapons. In the center of the vast concrete floor, sitting behind a makeshift folding table under hanging work lamps, was Don Salvatore Moretti.
He was seventy years old, with slicked-back silver hair, cold reptilian eyes, and an ivory cane resting against his knee. Flanking him were three of his most ruthless lieutenants.
When Luca’s motorcade rolled into the warehouse, the tension in the room skyrocketed. Luca stepped out first, wearing an immaculate three-piece charcoal suit, his posture tall and commanding despite the fresh stitches burning beneath his coat.
He walked around the car, opened my door, and offered his hand.
I took a deep breath, smoothing down the elegant black cashmere coat Marcus had provided, and placed my hand in his. The heavy sapphire on my finger caught the harsh fluorescent light above. Luca wrapped his strong fingers around mine, giving me a subtle, reassuring squeeze that anchored my frayed nerves.
Together, we walked toward the center of the warehouse, our footsteps echoing against the wet concrete.
Don Moretti’s eyes locked onto me the moment I stepped into the light. A cruel, triumphant sneer spread across his weathered face. "Well, well. Look at what the stray dog dragged in. David’s little girl. You look just like your fool of a father, child."
"Keep your tongue behind your teeth, Salvatore," Luca spoke, his voice cutting through the damp chill like an executioner’s axe. "You are speaking to my future wife."
Moretti froze, his eyes dropping immediately to my left hand, where the Rossi family crest was clearly visible on the platinum setting. The old man’s face twisted into an ugly mask of rage.
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"A betrothal? Don't insult my intelligence, Rossi! You found out who she was and threw a ring on her finger yesterday to block my claim on David's estate!"
"She has lived in my house, eaten at my table, and tended to my personal care for weeks," Luca replied smoothly, never breaking eye contact. "The engagement was formalized before the council last month. If you dispute my word, Salvatore, you are welcome to draw your weapon and settle it under the old laws right now."
