Chapter 3 - The Midday Ambush
By noon the following day, the story had already spread through the underground channels like wild brushfire. The feared Dante Moretti hadn't closed the Bellini deal; his glamorous American wife had dismantled it over appetizers.
I was sitting in the conservatory of our penthouse, reviewing financial spreadsheets on my laptop while sipping black coffee, when the front elevator chimed. Dante was down at the docks handling a union dispute, which meant only security had access to the private penthouse foyer.
Or so I assumed.
Heavy footsteps clicked across the imported marble foyer. I looked up to see Lorenzo Bellini strolling into my living room, flanked by two oversized thugs in leather jackets. He had traded his formal suit for a tailored sport coat, looking entirely too comfortable in my home.
"Nice view of the lake, Mrs. Moretti," Lorenzo said, stopping by the glass windows and whistling softly. "A bit cold, though. Chicago always smells like wet concrete."
My heart jumped, but I kept my hands steady as I closed my laptop. "You're trespassing, Lorenzo. Dante’s security will have you removed within two minutes."
"Dante's security on the ground floor is currently occupied explaining an anonymous tip about unregistered firearms to three squad cars of Chicago police," Lorenzo sneered, pulling out a gold cigarette case. "We walked through the service entrance while your guards were busy. Sit down, Sophie. We need to renegotiate."
"I don't negotiate with boys who hide behind their fathers," I said coldly, standing up from my chair and keeping the oak desk between us.
Lorenzo’s smug grin vanished, replaced by an ugly scowl. He stepped toward the desk, leaning his knuckles onto the polished wood. "You cost my family twenty million dollars in upfront liquidity last night. My father spent all morning screaming at our legal counsel because you opened your clever little mouth. He thinks you're brilliant. I think you're a liability."
"Is that a threat?"
"It's a business proposal," Lorenzo said, tossing a new contract onto the desk. "You convince Dante to sign this amended agreement by tomorrow morning. You tell him you re-read the indemnity clauses and realized they were standard procedure. If you do, five percent of every shipment gets funneled into an offshore account in your maiden name. You get rich, Dante gets his wine, and everyone stays happy."
"And if I refuse?"
Lorenzo leaned closer, his eyes cold and dead. "Accidents happen in this city, Sophie. Elegant blondes fall from high penthouses. Brakes fail on luxury cars. Dante is powerful, but he can't guard you twenty-four hours a day. Think about your future."
Before I could reply, the elevator doors chimed again.
Lorenzo didn't even have time to turn around before the sound of a suppressed gunshot hissed through the room.
The thug standing to Lorenzo's left dropped to the floor with a choked gasp, clutching his shattered kneecap. The second guard reached for his waistband, but a thunderous kick sent him crashing through the glass coffee table, shattering it into thousands of glittering pieces.
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Dante stood in the doorway. He wasn't wearing his suit jacket; his white shirt was rolled to the elbows, revealing the dark tattoos spiraling up his forearms. In his right hand, he held a sleek black pistol, still smoking faintly.
"You made two mistakes today, Lorenzo," Dante said, his voice terrifyingly quiet as he walked into the conservatory. "First, you came into my house uninvited. Second, you spoke to my wife."
