Chapter 6 - The Gates of Hell
The main iron gates of the Rossi estate were a towering wall of blackened steel, forged to withstand a localized explosive charge.
Today, they were rattling under the furious pounding of a single desperate man.
Through the high-definition security monitors in the master control room, I watched my ex-boyfriend. Marcus looked unkempt, his jacket stained, his eyes wide and bloodshot, waving a crumpled piece of paper that looked like an old employment contract. Two of Lorenzo’s elite guards stood a few feet away with assault rifles leveled casually at his chest, completely unfazed by his shrieking.
"Let me in!" Marcus screamed, his voice carrying clearly through the intercom speaker. "I know she’s in there! That mafia bastard is harboring a fugitive! She owes me money! She owes me respect!"
I stood behind Lorenzo in the control room, my hands trembling as I stared at the screen. The man who had once shoved me down the stairs—the man who had left me bleeding on a hardwood floor while he ran off to cover his gambling debts—looked pathetic, small, and unhinged.
"He’s got a lot of nerve coming here," Marco muttered, resting his hand on the grip of his sidearm. "Shall we drop the gate and let the hounds out, Boss?"
"No," Lorenzo said coldly, his hands resting flat on the control console. "Opening a gate for trash is messy. Let him in through the outer holding yard. I want to see how brave he is when he’s standing inside the fortress."
Ten minutes later, Marcus was escorted across the gravel courtyard by four armed guards. He stumbled slightly as they pushed him up the grand stone steps of the front entrance, their heavy boots echoing across the marble foyer like a drumbeat of execution.
Lorenzo and I waited for them in the main reception hall—a cavernous room dominated by a massive stone fireplace, dark oil paintings of past Rossi patriarchs, and soaring vaulted ceilings.
The heavy oak doors swung open.
Marcus was shoved forward into the center of the room, stumbling to his knees on the polished marble floor. He looked up, his sneer instantly freezing when he saw the towering figure of Lorenzo Rossi standing before him, flanked by armed enforcers.
Then, Marcus’s eyes shifted past Lorenzo, landing directly on me.
"There you are!" Marcus barked, trying to stand up but getting immediately forced back down by a heavy hand on his shoulder. "You little ungrateful bitch! Running away to hide with a bunch of criminals while I’ve been tearing the city apart looking for you! You’re coming back with me right now."
I didn't flinch. I didn't hide behind Lorenzo. I stepped forward, looking down at the man who had destroyed my life.
"I have nothing to say to you, Marcus," I said, my voice steady and cold. "You killed my baby. And you’re lucky the police haven't caught up to you yet."
Marcus laughed, a high-pitched, nervous sound that echoed off the stone walls. "Your baby? That wasn't a baby, that was a mistake! And besides, you’re a maid! You belong to me! I signed the—"
He didn't get to finish the sentence.
Lorenzo moved with terrifying speed. In a fraction of a second, the mafia boss crossed the room, grabbed Marcus by the lapels of his jacket, and hauled him off his feet with one hand, slamming him against the solid stone pillar of the fireplace.
The impact knocked the wind out of Marcus in a violent gasp.
"You talk too much," Lorenzo whispered, his face inches from Marcus’s terrified eyes. "And you lack basic manners when addressing a guest in my home. Better yet... when addressing my future."
May you like
Marcus clawed frantically at Lorenzo’s iron grip, his face turning purple. "I... I don't know who you are... but you can't touch me! I have rights! I’ll call the cops!"
"The cops?" Lorenzo chuckled darkly, a sound devoid of any humor. "In this city, the police don't cross my gates unless I invite them to clean up the trash. And you, Mr. Vance... you are the definition of trash."
