Chapter 2 - The Warning That Made the Mafia Boss Tremble|
For fourteen days, Lorenzo Bianchi had wanted to find Amelia and make her regret leaving him.
Now, standing in a freezing Chicago alley, he wanted only to know who had hurt her.
But her final words stopped him.
"If you take me home, they'll kill your sister."
Lorenzo stared.
"My sister?"
Amelia pulled her torn sweater over her shoulder.
"Please, Lorenzo. Just leave."
He shook his head.
"Isabella is in Florence."
"No."
The certainty in her voice frightened him.
"What do you mean, no?"
Amelia looked toward the street.
"She's not in Florence anymore."
Lorenzo reached for his phone.
Amelia caught his wrist.
"Don't call her."
He froze.
For a moment, he looked at her hand.
Then at her face.
"Why?"
"Because they're watching her phone."
His jaw tightened.
"Who?"
Amelia's eyes filled.
"Victor Moretti."
The name settled between them like a death sentence.
Victor Moretti had spent thirty years building an organization feared across New York and Chicago.
He was older than Lorenzo, richer than most politicians, and ruthless enough that even other syndicate leaders preferred negotiating to fighting.
More importantly, he had been Lorenzo's father's closest associate.
The man who attended family dinners.
Sent expensive gifts at Christmas.
Called Isabella his little princess.
Lorenzo stared at Amelia.
"Victor did that to your back?"
She looked away.
He closed his eyes.
He remembered the serpent-and-dagger crest.
The deliberate mark.
The way Amelia had flinched before he touched her.
Something inside him turned sick.
"Amelia, look at me."
She shook her head.
"Please."
He stepped backward.
"Okay."
Her expression changed.
He raised both hands.
"I'm not going to touch you."
For the first time, her shoulders lowered slightly.
Then he removed his coat.
"You're freezing."
She stared at it.
For a moment, he thought she would refuse.
Then she took it.
The coat hung loosely around her small frame.
He remembered how she used to steal his sweaters because she liked how they smelled.
Now she looked frightened of accepting something as simple as warmth.
Lorenzo swallowed.
"I want to know what happened."
Amelia laughed weakly.
"You don't."
"Yes. I do."
She looked at him.
"Then start by asking yourself why Victor attended our wedding rehearsal."
Lorenzo frowned.
"He was an old family friend."
"And why did he insist on speaking to me alone?"
His stomach tightened.
"What?"
Amelia nodded slowly.
"The night before the wedding."
Lorenzo remembered.
Victor had hosted a private dinner.
He'd told Lorenzo that business required his attention.
He'd offered to have his driver take Amelia home.
Lorenzo had agreed without hesitation.
He had trusted Victor.
More than he should have.
"What happened?" Lorenzo whispered.
Amelia pulled the coat tighter.
"He showed me photographs of Isabella."
Lorenzo went cold.
"What photographs?"
"Your sister sitting in a car outside her apartment. Walking into a grocery store. Leaving a café."
She swallowed.
"He knew everything about her."
Lorenzo's hands curled into fists.
Amelia continued.
"Then he told me the wedding couldn't happen."
"Why?"
"He said marrying you would give me a legal interest in something he wanted."
Lorenzo stared.
"What?"
"Your father's original shipping trust."
For a moment, he couldn't speak.
His father, Antonio Bianchi, had established the trust decades earlier.
Lorenzo had inherited controlling interests after Antonio died.
But he'd never understood why Victor remained so interested in the old agreements.
Amelia looked at him.
"Victor said I had to leave you publicly. He wanted everyone to believe I never loved you."
Lorenzo closed his eyes.
"The note."
She nodded.
"I didn't write it."
His eyes opened.
"What?"
"He dictated it."
Lorenzo felt something break.
For fourteen days, he'd carried that note in his wallet.
Read it until the paper softened.
I cannot marry you. I don't love you.
He'd believed every word.
Now he looked at the woman who had once promised him forever.
"You didn't want to leave?"
Amelia began crying.
"No."
The answer was barely audible.
Lorenzo stepped forward instinctively.
Then stopped himself.
She noticed.
For the first time, she looked at him without immediately retreating.
"I waited at the cathedral," he whispered.
"I know."
"I thought you'd abandoned me."
Tears rolled down her cheeks.
"I know."
He looked at the mark beneath her torn sweater.
Then whispered:
"Did Victor threaten Isabella if you refused?"
Amelia nodded.
"And when I told him I wouldn't leave you, he showed me what would happen."
Lorenzo's breathing changed.
He wanted to destroy something.
To call his men.
To make Victor pay.
But Amelia was standing in front of him, shaking.
She needed him to think.
Not rage.
He forced his hands to relax.
"Where have you been staying?"
"A room above a diner."
"Is it safe?"
She hesitated.
"Safer than home."
The words hurt.
Lorenzo nodded.
"Then I won't ask you to come home."
She looked startled.
He continued.
"But I want to arrange somewhere you can stay without being watched by Victor."
She studied him.
"Why would I trust you?"
The question struck him harder than any insult.
Because only minutes earlier, he'd trapped her against a wall.
He had frightened a woman who was already terrified.
Lorenzo lowered his eyes.
"You shouldn't trust me just because I say you can."
Silence.
Then he whispered:
"I was wrong to corner you. I'm sorry."
Amelia stared.
For years, Lorenzo Bianchi had been feared by men who carried guns.
Now he was apologizing in a freezing alley.
He looked up.
"Let me earn your trust."
Before she could answer, his phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number.
He opened it.
A photograph filled the screen.
Isabella Bianchi.
His younger sister.
Sitting in a chair inside an unfamiliar room.
Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap.
She appeared frightened but unharmed.
Beneath the photograph were eight words.
BRING THE BRIDE, OR YOUR SISTER DISAPPEARS FOREVER.
Lorenzo looked up.
Amelia had gone completely pale.
May you like
Then she whispered:
"He's already found us."
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