Chapter 9
Dante Russo stared at the clipboard in Maya’s trembling hands. The erratic black lines of the SUV and the violent red wax scribbles of the viper crest seemed to burn into his retinas. For a moment, the kitchen was entirely silent save for the ragged breathing of the men recovering from the bloodbath outside.
Dante’s pale gray eyes darkened, the pupils dilating until they were almost entirely black. The feral, protective father was instantly subsumed by the cold, calculating syndicate boss. He recognized the crest immediately. The Moretti family. His oldest, most bitter rivals in the city.
He slowly stood up, holding Sophia securely against his chest with one massive, blood-stained arm. He reached out with his free hand and took the clipboard from Maya. His knuckles, raw and split, smeared a tiny drop of blood across the edge of the paper.
"You saw this, piccola?" Dante asked softly, looking at his daughter, who was hiding her face in the crook of his neck.
Sophia gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod against his shoulder.
"Why the hell would the Morettis target your wife?" Tony groaned from the counter, pressing a bloody towel against his wounded shoulder. "They know the commission will sanction them for breaking the peace treaty over civilian family members."
"Because they don't care about the treaty," Dante said, his voice dropping to a lethal, icy register. "Lorenzo Moretti wants control of the docks. He took my wife to force me to sign them over. And they came here tonight to take my daughter so I'd have nothing left to fight for."
Dante looked at the kitchen door. Sirens began to wail in the distance, cutting through the sound of the rain. The police were coming. But police were useless to a man like Dante Russo. If Lorenzo Moretti had his wife, a badge wouldn't save her. Only blood would.
"We need to move," Dante commanded, his voice snapping like a whip. "Marco, wipe the security drives. Tony, tell the cops this was a random robbery. If my name ends up on a police report, I will burn this place to the ground myself. Understood?"
"Understood, Boss," Marco squeaked, sprinting toward the back office.
Dante turned his attention back to Maya. She was still holding the cast-iron meat mallet, her knuckles white, her chest heaving in her ruined, flour-dusted apron. She looked terrified, but she hadn't run. She had stayed and protected his daughter.
"Put the hammer down, Maya," Dante said quietly.
Maya blinked, realizing she was still gripping the weapon. She carefully set it on a stainless-steel prep table. "You have to get her out of here," Maya said, her voice shaking. "If they know you're here, they'll send more men."
"My convoy is waiting in the alley," Dante said, adjusting his grip on Sophia. "But we have a problem."
"What problem?" Maya asked.
"She won't let you go," Dante replied.
Maya looked down. Sophia’s small hand had reached out from Dante’s embrace and was gripping the fabric of Maya’s white blouse with desperate, white-knuckled intensity. The child was crying silently, her brown eyes wide with absolute terror at the prospect of being separated from the only person she had spoken to in three days.
"Sophia, sweetheart," Maya cooed gently, placing her hand over the child's tiny fingers. "You have to go with your dad. He's going to keep you safe."
Sophia shook her head violently. "No," she whimpered, her voice cracking. "You come too. Purple."
Dante looked at his daughter, then back at Maya. The calculation in his pale gray eyes was terrifyingly fast. His daughter was the key to finding his wife, but she was entirely traumatized. If he dragged her into an armored car screaming, she would retreat back into her catatonic state, and he would lose the only thread he had to Lorenzo Moretti.
"She needs you," Dante said flatly.
May you like
"I can't go with you," Maya stammered, stepping back. "I'm a waitress. I have a shift at a bakery at four in the morning. I am not part of this world, Mr. Russo."
"You are now," Dante said softly, stepping toward her.
