The Business of Shadows
The black Maserati slid out of the mansion gates, disappearing into the night. Lorenzo drove in silence, his jaw clenched, his mind sharper than the blade he kept strapped beneath his jacket.
The call had been brief, urgent. Marco wanted a meeting. That alone was strange—Marco never asked. He demanded.
The rendezvous point was an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city. When Lorenzo stepped inside, the scent of gasoline and rust filled the air. Men stood around, guns tucked into their belts, eyes sharp. But Marco wasn't hard to spot. He leaned casually against a crate, a cigarette dangling from his lips, the smoke curling upward like a serpent.
"Lorenzo DeLuca," Marco drawled, his voice oily with arrogance. "The untouchable king of the underworld."
Lorenzo's gaze was ice. "Cut the theatrics, Marco. What do you want?"
Marco smirked, flicking ash onto the floor. "Straight to business. I like that. I want the girl."
Lorenzo's body stiffened, though his expression remained unreadable. "What girl?"
Marco chuckled darkly. "Don't play dumb. The one you're hiding in your mansion. Sweet, innocent, beautiful Amara." He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "She belongs to me."
For the first time in years, Lorenzo felt a flare of something he wasn't used to—anger mixed with protectiveness. He remembered Amara's eyes earlier that evening, how unafraid she looked when staring at him. She didn't know it, but she had unknowingly stepped right into the center of a storm.
"She doesn't belong to you," Lorenzo said evenly, though his voice carried steel.
Marco's smirk widened, sensing the shift. "Ah, so the rumors are true. The cold-blooded Mafia boss is getting soft. Falling for a nanny? How poetic."
Lorenzo moved in a blur. In a second, Marco was slammed against the crate, Lorenzo's hand gripping his throat tightly. His men reached for their guns, but Lorenzo's men—hidden in the shadows—were faster, their weapons already drawn.
"Listen carefully," Lorenzo hissed, his eyes burning with fury. "If you ever come near Amara again, if you even whisper her name, I'll end you. And this time, there will be no negotiations."
Marco struggled, but the smirk never fully left his lips. "Careful, DeLuca. You're making enemies you can't erase."
Lorenzo released him with a shove and turned away, his coat swaying with authority. His men followed, leaving Marco coughing but grinning in the smoke-filled warehouse.
As Lorenzo drove back to the mansion, his hands tightened around the wheel. He knew one thing for certain—Amara wasn't just a guest anymore. Protecting her meant war.
Meanwhile, back at the mansion, Amara sat by Isabella's bed, staring at the moonlight spilling across the floor. She didn't know where Lorenzo had gone or why he seemed haunted, but deep inside, she felt it—her life would never be the same.
And for the first time, she wondered if she was truly safe… or if the man she was beginning to trust would be the very reason her world shattered.