Chapter 3 - Hostage of the Harbor
The silence in the SUV was absolute.
I looked down at my hands. They were shaking so violently I couldn't stop them. My clumsiness—the trait Berto always teased me about, the thing I thought was just a quirky flaw—had just handed his entire empire to his worst enemy on a silver platter.
“Berto,” I whispered, tears finally burning my eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know.”
Berto didn't yell. He didn't look angry. Instead, he reached out, his large hand wrapping around mine, squeezing tightly. The warmth of his skin grounded me, pulling me back from the edge of a full-blown panic attack.
“I know,” he said softly. “It wasn't your fault. They planned this for months. They used your routine against you.”
“What do we do?” I asked. “If they have the files, they can destroy you. They can give them to the feds, or use them to take your territory.”
“They won't go to the feds,” Berto said, his eyes darkening. “The Marcones want the territory for themselves. They want to force me into a corner where I have to give up everything to keep you safe.”
“Then don't,” I said, looking him in the eyes. “Let me go. Run. Protect your family.”
Berto stared at me, his grip on my hand tightening until it was almost painful. “You still don't get it, do you? Four years ago, I was a monster with nothing to lose. Then you walked into my office with a terrible attitude, a mismatched mug, and a smile that made me forget the blood on my hands. I would burn New York to the ground before I let them have you.”
Before I could process his words, a violent impact rattled the SUV.
BOOM!
The vehicle fishtailed. The sound of metal grinding against metal shrieked through the air. Outside, the rain was blinding, but through the cracked, bulletproof window, I saw a massive delivery truck ramming into our convoy.
“Hold on!” Leo yelled from the front seat.
Automatic gunfire erupted. Rat-tat-tat-tat!
The bullets rained against our armored windows like heavy hail, leaving spiderweb cracks in the reinforced glass. The SUV spun out of control, crashing into a concrete barrier near the Brooklyn harbor.
My head slammed against the headrest, spots of black dancing in my eyes.
Through the haze, I saw Berto move with lethal speed. He kicked his door open, firing his weapon into the rainy darkness.
“Leo, cover the rear!” Berto shouted, reaching back into the car to grab me. “Anna, stay low! Stay behind me!”
I scrambled out of the ruined vehicle, the freezing rain drenching me in seconds. The harbor was dark, illuminated only by the flashing hazard lights of the crashed cars and the muzzle flashes of automatic weapons.
We ran toward a dilapidated warehouse, Berto keeping his body positioned between me and the gunfire.
But as we reached the heavy metal doors, a figure stepped out of the shadows.
David.
He wasn't wearing a gray suit anymore. He wore a black tactical vest, a smirk plastered across his face, and a submachine gun pointed directly at Berto’s chest.
Behind us, three more armed men emerged from the rain, cutting off our retreat.
“End of the line, Don Castellano,” David said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Drop the gun. Or the secretary gets a new opening in her skull.”
Berto didn't hesitate. He slowly lowered his weapon to the wet concrete, his eyes never leaving David’s face.
“Smart choice,” David sneered. He gestured to his men. “Grab her.”
Two men stepped forward, grabbing my arms and pulling me away from Berto. I struggled, kicking and screaming, but their grip was like iron.
“Don’t touch her!” Berto roared, stepping forward, but David raised his gun, pointing it at Berto’s forehead.
May you like
“One more step, and you die here,” David said. “But that’s not the plan. My uncle wants a negotiation. Tomorrow night. The Crimson Chandelier gala. You bring the transfer papers for the Brooklyn docks, and maybe—just maybe—we’ll give you back your clumsy little girl.”
They threw me into the back of a waiting van. As the doors slammed shut, the last thing I saw through the small window was Berto standing in the rain, his face twisted in a look of absolute, terrifying rage.
