Chapter 11 - THE FATHER'S DEBT
The heavy, armored Viper SUV roared down the empty, snow-slicked interstate, pushing past ninety miles an hour.
Lorenzo kept his eyes locked on the glowing red dot on the tablet mounted to the dashboard. The dot was moving steadily, about five miles ahead, heading straight toward the towering skyline of Manhattan in the distance.
Brody Higgins.
The low-level enforcer who had seduced a desperate girl, abandoned her to crippling debt, and knowingly set her up to be murdered by his own syndicate just to plant a tracker.
And now, he was driving away with the fragile, three-pound premature daughter that Lorenzo had personally breathed life into.
Lorenzo’s grip on the steering wheel tightened until the leather creaked. He wasn't just going to kill Brody. He was going to erase him.
The red dot suddenly veered off the interstate, taking an exit toward an abandoned industrial sector on the edge of the city.
Lorenzo slammed on the brakes, the massive SUV fishtailing slightly as he took the exit ramp, accelerating furiously.
He tore through the empty, snow-covered streets of the industrial park, passing rusted warehouses and chain-link fences.
The red dot stopped moving.
It was stationary near an old, dilapidated shipping dock overlooking the freezing, dark waters of the river.
Lorenzo killed the headlights and cut the engine a block away.
He grabbed his pistol and slipped out of the SUV, moving silently through the snow like a ghost.
Through the biting wind, he saw a beat-up, dark blue sedan parked near the edge of the concrete pier. The engine was running, white exhaust pluming into the freezing air.
Brody was standing outside the driver’s side door, pacing nervously, a cell phone pressed to his ear.
He was a young, unremarkable man wearing a cheap leather jacket, rubbing his hands together against the cold.
“Pick up, Russo, come on,” Brody muttered, his voice carrying in the quiet morning air. “I got the kid. What do you want me to do with it?”
Lorenzo crept closer, using the rusted shipping containers for cover.
Through the frosted window of the sedan, Lorenzo saw a small, blue cashmere bundle resting on the passenger seat. The tiny infant was completely still, likely exhausted and freezing in the poorly heated car.
Brody cursed, slamming his phone against the roof of the car.
“Fine. If you aren't going to answer, I’m getting rid of it,” Brody spat, pocketing his phone.
He reached for the passenger side door handle, fully intending to take the tiny, defenseless baby and throw her into the freezing river.
“Don't touch that door, Brody.”
The voice was low, terrifying, and echoing with absolute, lethal authority.
Brody froze.
He slowly turned around, his eyes widening in pure terror as Lorenzo Moretti stepped out from the shadows of the shipping containers, his silver pistol aimed directly at Brody’s chest.
“Moretti,” Brody choked out, stumbling backward, hitting the side of the sedan. “How… how did you find me?”
“You pinned a tracker to Nora’s uniform,” Lorenzo said, his voice entirely devoid of emotion. “I pinned it to your daughter’s blankets.”
Brody stared at the bundle in the car, realizing his catastrophic mistake.
“Look, man, I was just following orders!” Brody pleaded, holding his hands up in frantic surrender. “Russo told me to plant the girl! He told me to take the baby! I didn't want to hurt anyone!”
“You abandoned a pregnant woman to freeze to death while drowning in your gambling debts,” Lorenzo stated coldly, stepping closer. “You sent assassins into my home. You stole a three-pound infant who barely survived childbirth.”
He stopped ten feet away, his gray eyes burning with absolute, uncompromising judgment.
“You aren't a man, Brody. You’re an insect.”
Brody panicked. He dropped his hands and lunged for a pistol tucked into the waistband of his jeans.
He was too slow. He was vastly outmatched.
Lorenzo didn't shoot to kill. Not yet.
He fired two precise, calculated shots.
The first bullet shattered Brody’s right kneecap. The second shattered his left.
Brody screamed in excruciating agony, collapsing onto the snowy concrete, clutching his ruined legs, blood instantly staining the white ground.
Lorenzo walked past the screaming man, completely ignoring him.
He holstered his weapon and gently opened the passenger door of the sedan.
The cold air rushed in, but the thick cashmere blankets had done their job. Lily was sleeping soundly, completely unaware of the violence surrounding her.
Lorenzo reached in and carefully, tenderly picked up the tiny bundle. He cradled her against his chest, shielding her from the wind with his heavy tactical vest.
He looked down at the tiny, fragile face. She was breathing perfectly.
A profound, unfamiliar sense of warmth washed over the ruthless mafia boss.
He turned back to Brody, who was writhing in the snow, sobbing hysterically.
“Please,” Brody begged, spitting blood onto the concrete. “Please, Moretti, I’ll leave the city. I’ll disappear. Just let me live.”
Lorenzo looked at the pathetic man bleeding at his feet.
“You aren't disappearing, Brody,” Lorenzo said softly, adjusting the blanket around the sleeping infant. “You’re going to be a message.”
Lorenzo pulled his encrypted satellite phone from his pocket with his free hand and dialed Dominic.
“Boss, did you find her?” Dominic asked frantically.
“I have her. She’s safe,” Lorenzo replied, his voice softening slightly as he looked at the baby.
“Thank God,” Dominic breathed. “Nora has been beside herself.”
“Tell Nora I’m bringing her daughter home,” Lorenzo ordered. “And Dominic?”
“Yes, boss?”
“Send a cleanup crew to the old docks in the industrial sector,” Lorenzo commanded, looking down at Brody. “Tell them to bring cement and a heavy chain. We’re going to ensure the Vipers understand what happens when they touch my family.”
May you like
He hung up the phone.
Lorenzo walked to the edge of the pier, holding the tiny, sleeping infant safely against his chest, watching the sun finally break through the heavy winter clouds, casting a brilliant, golden light over the freezing river.
