Chapter 5 - Dawn and Redemption at the DeLuca Estate
The heavy oak doors of Lorenzo DeLuca’s private study slammed open at 4:15 AM.
Lorenzo sat behind his massive mahogany desk, dressed in a silk bathrobe, looking as though he had never gone to sleep at all. Two armed enforcers stood guard by the door, while Carlo sat handcuffed in a wooden chair in the center of the room, his head bowed in miserable defeat.
Matteo and I stood side by side in front of the desk. My clothes were dusted with drywall powder, a small graze marked my left cheek where a splinter had grazed me, and my sensible shoes were scuffed with gunpowder residue. But my posture was absolute, unyielding, and iron-clad.
Carlo had broken within two minutes of interrogation when Matteo threatened to hand him over to federal prosecutors instead of family justice, confessing that the rival Ferretti family had promised him a million dollars and safe passage out of the country to leave the service corridor unmonitored tonight.
Lorenzo looked slowly from Carlo’s bruised face up to his son, and finally, his dark, calculating eyes locked onto mine.
The silence in the room stretched out for an eternity.
For the first time since I arrived at the estate, the mighty mafia patriarch stood up from his chair. He walked around the massive desk, stopping just two feet away from me.
He didn't smile. He didn't offer effusive apologies. That wasn't who Lorenzo DeLuca was.
Instead, he slowly extended his right hand toward me.
"You were wrong about me, Mr. DeLuca," I said clearly, not moving a muscle to accept the handshake until he acknowledged the truth. "I didn't panic. I didn't get distracted. And I certainly didn't trip."
Lorenzo’s lips twitched into the faintest ghost of a respectful smirk.
"No, Miss Callaway," Lorenzo rumbled, his voice thick with newfound respect. "You didn't trip at all. You landed squarely on your feet."
I reached out and shook his hand, my grip firm, steady, and unbreakable.
Behind me, Matteo leaned casually against the bookshelf, his eyes locked on me with a warm, undeniable spark of admiration that had nothing to do with protection and everything to do with mutual respect.
"Send your agency my billing department's invoice," Lorenzo said, turning back toward his desk. "Double whatever your standard rate is. And effective immediately, you are retained as head of Matteo’s personal detail on a permanent retainer."
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"I have my own agency standards, Mr. DeLuca," I replied, turning toward the door with my head held high. "And my fees are non-negotiable."
As I walked out of the study into the pale, golden light of the breaking dawn, I knew my life would never be the same. The mafia boss had said no woman could guard his son—and in one unforgettable night, I had proven that sometimes, the person you least expect is the only one strong enough to save your entire world.
