Chapter 6
Belvin’s demeanor shifted from somber reflection to hyper-lethal focus in less than a second. The melancholy vanished, replaced by the cold, calculating predator who ruled half of New York’s underground economy.
"Who?" Belvin barked into the desk console.
“Castellano’s men,” the guard replied, his voice tense against the backdrop of distant shouting. “He didn't take kindly to getting thrown across the dining room. He’s got twenty armed goops clearing the kitchen. They bypassed the front doors to avoid the police.”
Naomi grabbed the edge of the mahogany desk, her knuckles turning white. "They're here for me? Because I humiliated Castellano?"
"They're here because Castellano thinks you're a loose end, and because he saw how I looked at you," Belvin said coldly, already unlocking a hidden compartment beneath the desk. He pulled out a heavy Glock 19 with a custom matte-black finish and a spare magazine, sliding them expertly into his shoulder holster. "He thinks taking you gives him leverage over the Santoro family."
"I have to get out of here," Naomi said, panic rising in her throat as she backed toward the door. "My sister—if they trace me back to Maya's apartment—"
"They won't get within three blocks of your sister," Belvin said, his voice an absolute wall of authority. He reached out and caught her wrist, his grip firm but not painful. "If you walk out that back door alone right now, you'll be floating in the East River before midnight. Castellano doesn't leave witnesses when his pride is bruised."
Titan suddenly rose from the rug, letting out a low, vibrating growl. The dog’s ears were pinned forward, his nose pointed directly at the reinforced steel office door. Heavy boots pounded against the hallway tiles outside, accompanied by the muffled sound of shattered porcelain and shouted curses.
Bang! Bang!
Bullets chewed through the outer drywall, the dull thuds echoing through the administrative suite.
"They're at the outer security partition," Belvin said grimly. He turned to Naomi, his dark eyes locking onto hers with terrifying clarity. "You saved my dog. Now, you’re going to stay behind my back, and I’m going to settle a very old debt with Vincent Castellano."
"I'm not hiding behind anyone," Naomi snapped, a flash of her mother’s fierce, desperate stubbornness flaring up inside her. She spotted a heavy steel wrench lying near an open toolbox beside the server rack. Without hesitating, she snatched it up, her grip tightening around the cold metal handle. "My family survived your family once, Mr. Santoro. I’m not about to die in a restaurant kitchen because some real-estate thug has fragile feelings."
A rare, dangerous smile flickered across Belvin’s face—a look of genuine respect that cut through the tension in the room.
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"Elena’s blood, through and through," Belvin muttered. He drew his Glock, checking the slide with a sharp clack. "Stay behind my right shoulder. If anyone comes through that door who isn't wearing a Santoro pin on their lapel, you hit them with that wrench as hard as you can."
Before Naomi could answer, the reinforced outer door exploded inward with a deafening crash of splintered oak and iron hinges.
