“Take It Off Before I Tear It Off!” The Billionaire Mafia Don Saw My Red Dress And Locked The Restaurant Doors

The tension in the room was absolute. Rain lashed violently against the cracked panoramic windows, flashes of lightning illuminating the bloody battleground of Lorenzo Vital’s private office.

Lily remained kneeling beside the open sideboard, the heavy steel lockbox clutched tightly in her arms. She looked at Dario Moretti—a cruel, aging crime boss whose eyes held no mercy. Then her gaze shifted to Tyler Vance.

""Tyler,"" Lily said, her voice cutting through the silence with absolute clarity. ""You were going to let them kill me.""

Tyler’s face was pale, his eyes darting frantically between Lorenzo’s gun and Dario’s revolver. ""You don't understand, Lily! I was in debt! The Russian syndicate was going to break my legs! Dario offered to clear my accounts if I got your badge! I didn't know they were going to do this!""

""You knew exactly what you were doing,"" Lily said, disgust dripping from every syllable. ""You took three hundred thousand dollars to sell out a woman who thought you were just a decent man taking her to dinner.""

""Enough talking!"" Dario roared, cocking the hammer of his revolver. ""Vital! Toss the Kimber across the floor, or I paint this carpet with her brains! Three seconds! One—""

Lorenzo slowly stepped out from behind the marble pillar. He didn't look at Dario. His storm-gray eyes were fixed entirely on Tyler Vance.

""You made a mistake, Vance,"" Lorenzo said, his voice terrifyingly calm, devoid of all emotion. ""You brought violence into my office. And you pointed a gun at my woman.""

""Drop it, Lorenzo!"" Tyler shrieked, his finger tightening on his trigger.

Instead of dropping his weapon, Lorenzo shifted his weight.

In that split second, Lily didn't hesitate. Using all the strength in her body, she swung the heavy steel lockbox upward, hurling all twenty pounds of reinforced metal directly at Dario Moretti’s knees.

Crack!

Dario let out an agonized howl as his kneecap shattered, his revolver discharging harmlessly into the ceiling plaster.

Before Tyler could process what had happened, Lorenzo moved with blinding, predatory speed. Two strides closed the distance. Lorenzo’s left hand struck Tyler’s wrist, snapping the bone with an audible crunch and sending the pistol skittering across the floor. In the same fluid motion, Lorenzo drove his elbow into Tyler’s jaw, knocking the stockbroker out cold before he even hit the carpet.

Dario, screaming on the floor, clawed for his fallen revolver.

A heavy, polished leather shoe stepped directly onto Dario’s wrist, pinning it to the floorboards with crushing force. Lorenzo stood over the rival boss, the barrel of his Kimber pressed directly between Dario’s eyes.

""You should have stayed in Brooklyn, Dario,"" Lorenzo whispered.

""You can't kill me, Vital!"" Dario spat, blood bubbling on his lips. ""The Commission won't allow it! There will be a war—""

""The Commission doesn't protect traitors who forge federal maritime manifests to frame another Family,"" Lily’s voice rang out clearly. She stood up, brushing plaster dust from her clothes, and picked up the lockbox from the floor. She popped the lid, pulling out the pristine, watermark-stamped documents. ""We have the originals, Dario. With your personal offshore routing numbers stamped on the harbor lease.""

Dario’s face drained of color. He looked at Lily, then at Lorenzo, realizing with sickening dread that he hadn't been outgunned—he had been outsmarted by a secretary.

Lorenzo looked down at Dario with utter contempt. ""Marco!""

Marco stepped into the office, his rifle lowered. ""Sir?""

""Call the Commission council,"" Lorenzo ordered without taking his eyes off Dario. ""Deliver Moretti to their tribunal along with these files. Let them handle the execution. I don't want his filthy blood ruining my new rug.""

""And Vance?"" Marco asked, gesturing to the unconscious broker on the floor.

""Hand him over to the FBI with the Caymans bank records,"" Lorenzo said coldly. ""Let him spend the next twenty-five years sharing a cell with federal felons. He'll find out quickly how little his Wall Street charm is worth in a maximum-security penitentiary.""