Chapter 3 - The Price of Protection
The Maybach rolled to a stop inside a cavernous private warehouse lit by stark overhead industrial lamps. Around us sat rows of high-end luxury vehicles and crates stamped with foreign shipping codes. But it wasn't the cargo that made my breath hitch—it was the dozen men in dark suits standing at attention in a semi-circle around the car.
Alessandro’s door opened first. He stepped out, then turned and opened mine, offering a gloved hand. I ignored it and swung my legs out, stepping onto the concrete floor with my chin held high.
"Impressive," I murmured sarcastically, looking at the private army. "Do you always escort your dinner dates with a tactical squad?"
"This isn't a date, Sophia," Alessandro said softly, stepping close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his frame. "This is an introduction."
He guided me—not aggressively, but with an immovable firmness—toward a private elevator embedded in the back wall of the warehouse. As we descended deep below street level, the air grew cooler, smelling faintly of old stone and sea salt.
When the doors slid open, I gasped.
We stepped into a sprawling, subterranean penthouse overlooking a private underground slip where a sleek, black yacht bobbed gently on dark water. Floor-to-ceiling glass walls looked out onto the Hudson River from beneath the city itself. Standing near a grand piano was a small figure who immediately dropped his toy and sprinted across the marble floor.
"Sophia!"
Luca crashed into my knees, wrapping his arms around me just like he had in the park.
I instantly dropped to my knees, hugging him back tightly, a genuine smile breaking across my face. "Hey, buddy. Look at you."
"I told Papa you would come!" Luca beamed, looking up at his father with absolute adoration. "I told him you have magic words!"
I looked up over Luca’s shoulder to find Alessandro watching us, an unreadable expression shadowing his sharp features. The cold, untouchable mob boss facade was entirely stripped away, leaving only a father who looked at his son like he hung the stars—and looked at the woman who saved him with something far more dangerous: absolute devotion.
May you like
"He hasn't stopped talking about you for three days," Alessandro said, his voice dropping an octave as he walked closer, kneeling down beside us. "Neither have I."
Before I could process the weight of those words, the heavy security doors behind us suddenly exploded inward with a deafening crash.
