Chapter 2 - THE PHOTOGRAPH IN THE RAIN
The rain slicked the cobblestones of the alley, reflecting the red taillights of the SUV.
Clara’s hand froze inside her purse. Her fingers brushed the edge of her pepper spray, but her mind calculated the odds. Two men in tailored suits, broad-shouldered and entirely unbothered by the downpour.
"Mr. Moretti would like to see you," the taller one repeated. His voice wasn’t a threat. It was a statement of inevitable fact.
The rear window of the SUV rolled down with a soft, electronic hum.
Lorenzo Moretti sat in the shadowed leather interior. He had removed his charcoal jacket, his white dress shirt stark against the darkness.
"Get in, Clara."
"I'm going home," she said, her voice shaking despite her desperate attempt to keep it level. "My shift is over."
"I know," Lorenzo said. "I also know your sister Maya’s asthma medication costs three hundred dollars a month. And that you are fifty dollars short."
Clara stopped breathing.
Answer one: He hadn't just asked for her name. In the hour since she walked away from his table, his men had dismantled her entire life on paper.
"How do you know about Maya?" she whispered.
Lorenzo didn't answer. He simply reached onto the seat beside him and held up a photograph.
Even through the rain, Clara recognized it instantly. It was a picture of Maya, taken earlier that afternoon. The eight-year-old was sitting on the stoop of their apartment building, reading a library book.
Clara’s pepper spray didn't matter anymore. She stepped forward, ignoring the guards, and grabbed the door handle, sliding into the backseat. The door clicked shut, trapping her in the heavy scent of expensive leather and cedar.
"If you touch her," Clara said, her voice dropping to a fierce, trembling whisper, "I will kill you myself."
Lorenzo didn't laugh. He looked at her with the same composed, unnerving intensity he had at the lounge.
"I have no intention of hurting your sister," Lorenzo said smoothly, placing the photograph on the center console. "In fact, I just paid her medical tab for the next five years. The pharmacy will deliver her inhalers tomorrow morning."
Clara stared at him, completely thrown.
Reversal: The mafia boss hadn't brought up her sister to threaten her life. He was paying for her survival.
"Why?" Clara demanded. "You don't know me. I ignored you at a restaurant."
"Exactly," Lorenzo said, turning his dark eyes fully toward her. "You ignored me. You saw a man who could ruin your life, and you chose to help an elderly woman pick up a fork instead. You aren't easily intimidated, Clara. You have a spine."
"And that buys my sister's medicine?"
"No," Lorenzo said, leaning slightly closer. "That qualifies you for the job I am about to offer."
"I already have a job."
"You are going to quit the Obsidian Lounge," Lorenzo stated calmly. "And you are going to marry me."
The rain drummed heavily against the tinted roof.
"You're insane," Clara breathed.
"I am pragmatic," Lorenzo corrected. "My grandfather controls the syndicate’s European shipping routes. He is stepping down in two months. He will only pass the routes to a grandson who is settled. Married. A family man."
He picked up the photograph of Maya again.
"My uncle, Vincent, wants those routes. He has been sending men to watch me, looking for weaknesses. If I hire a fake fiancée from my own circles, Vincent will bribe her or terrify her into betraying me."
"So you want a waitress?"
"I want a woman who cannot be bought, because she values her family more than money," Lorenzo said. "You protect your sister. I protect my empire. You marry me for one year. Maya gets the best medical care in the country, a private tutor, and you walk away with two million dollars."
Clara looked at the photograph. Two million dollars. It was a number so large it didn't even feel real. It meant a house. It meant Maya would never wheeze through the night because they couldn't afford the premium inhaler.
"I'm not selling myself," Clara said, lifting her chin.
"It is a business transaction," Lorenzo said.
"If it's a business transaction, why did your men take a picture of an eight-year-old girl?" Clara snapped, snatching the photo from the console.
"To prove a point," Lorenzo said.
"What point?"
"That you aren't the only one being watched."
Lorenzo reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, silver locket. It was shaped like a crescent moon.
Clara gasped, dropping the photo.
It was Maya’s locket. Their mother had given it to her before she passed away. Maya never, ever took it off.
"My men didn't take that photograph, Clara," Lorenzo said softly, dropping the silver locket into her trembling palm. "My uncle Vincent’s men took it. I intercepted it an hour ago."
Clara’s blood ran completely cold.
"Where is my sister?" Clara choked out.
May you like
"She isn't at your apartment," Lorenzo said, signaling his driver. The SUV lurched forward into the night. "She’s already at my estate. And we need to get there before Vincent realizes I took her."
TITLE: THE COAT IN THE HALLWAY
