Chapter 4 - The Enemy Who Wrote My Betrayal
The first thing Lorenzo did was protect me.
Not his gun.
Not his phone.
Not the evidence.
Me.
He pulled me behind the stone base of the fireplace while Marco moved toward the hallway.
“Two shooters!” someone yelled outside.
Then gunfire answered.
The lodge erupted in noise.
Glass breaking.
Wood splintering.
Men shouting through the storm.
My heart pounded so hard it hurt.
Lorenzo stayed crouched beside me.
“Can you move?”
“Yes.”
“Back hallway. Storage room.”
“What about you?”
“Amelia.”
“No.”
His eyes hardened.
“This is not a discussion.”
“It became one when you found me.”
Another shot hit the exterior wall.
Lorenzo swore.
He caught my hand and pulled me low through the hallway.
Marco covered us.
We reached a storage room without windows.
Lorenzo opened the door.
“Stay here.”
I grabbed his coat.
“Don’t leave me.”
The words escaped before pride could stop them.
He froze.
Something in his face softened.
“I’m coming back.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“Yes, I can.”
“No, Lorenzo. You can’t.”
He leaned close.
Then, so quickly I barely understood it, he pressed his forehead to mine.
“I already lost you once.”
His voice dropped.
“I am not doing it again.”
He closed the door.
A lock clicked.
I stood in darkness listening to the gunfight outside.
The next three minutes felt longer than the previous fourteen days.
Then silence.
Footsteps approached.
I picked up the heaviest object I could find—a metal flashlight.
The lock turned.
The door opened.
Lorenzo stood there.
Snow covered his coat.
Blood marked one sleeve.
I gasped.
“Not mine.”
I dropped the flashlight.
He stepped forward and caught me as I wrapped my arms around him.
For the first time since I ran, I stopped thinking.
I simply held him.
His arms closed around me.
Tight.
Careful around my scar.
“Two attackers,” he said into my hair. “One dead. One escaped.”
“Your men?”
“One wounded.”
“Can we stay here?”
“No.”
Of course not.
The attacker who escaped could bring others.
Within fifteen minutes we were moving.
No convoy.
No obvious formation.
Just a utility vehicle through a snow-covered service road to another car waiting several miles away.
Doctor Ward’s medication had lowered my fever enough to keep me conscious.
Barely.
By sunrise, we were in a small private airfield hangar.
Lorenzo wanted to return to Chicago.
I did not.
“That’s where they expect us.”
“That’s where my resources are.”
“And Dante.”
“Yes.”
“You’re walking directly into his territory.”
Lorenzo looked at me.
“Chicago is my territory.”
I shook my head.
“That is exactly what he expects you to think.”
Marco watched us quietly.
Lorenzo folded his arms.
“What are you suggesting?”
“We don’t go back as victims.”
A faint, humorless smile touched his mouth.
“Go on.”
“We make them think I’m still running from you.”
Marco understood first.
“You want to preserve the betrayal story.”
“Yes.”
Lorenzo did not like it.
I could tell instantly.
“We let Dante believe nothing changed,” I continued.
“He saw us together in Colorado.”
“He saw you capture me.”
Lorenzo’s eyes narrowed.
Marco nodded slowly.
“The photo doesn’t prove reconciliation.”
“Exactly.”
I pointed toward Lorenzo.
“You return to Chicago furious. You say you found me but I escaped during the shooting.”
“And you?”
“I disappear again.”
“No.”
“Lorenzo—”
“No.”
“You need bait.”
“You are not bait.”
“I already am.”
He stared at me.
“I’m not letting you go alone.”
“Then don’t.”
Marco leaned against a table.
“I have an idea.”
Lorenzo looked irritated.
“That sentence usually costs me money.”
“Use a safe house Dante doesn’t know exists.”
“Do we have one?”
“I do.”
That caught Lorenzo off guard.
Marco shrugged.
“My mother always told me never to tell cousins everything.”
Despite myself, I laughed.
The sound felt foreign.
Lorenzo looked at me.
For half a second, he smiled too.
Then we planned.
Lorenzo would return to Chicago publicly.
His men would spread the story that he found me in Colorado but lost me after an attack.
I would stay outside the city under Marco’s protection.
Meanwhile, Lorenzo would quietly investigate Dante.
The goal was simple.
Find the connection between Dante and Valenti.
The danger was everything else.
By evening, Lorenzo boarded his private plane.
Before leaving, he took me aside.
“I don’t like this.”
“I noticed.”
“You call every four hours.”
“That’s excessive.”
“Three.”
“Six.”
“Four.”
“Fine.”
His eyes searched mine.
Then he said, “The wedding letter.”
“What about it?”
“I read it every night.”
Pain twisted through me.
“Why?”
“To make myself angry enough not to miss you.”
I looked down.
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
His fingers touched my chin, lifting my face.
“You survived.”
I blinked.
“That is the only apology I will accept.”
He kissed my forehead.
Not my mouth.
Somehow that hurt more.
Then he left.
Two hours later, Marco drove me to a farmhouse outside Madison, Wisconsin.
It belonged to his aunt under her maiden name.
No one in the organization knew about it.
For the first time in days, I slept deeply.
The next morning, Lorenzo called.
“Dante came to see me.”
My pulse jumped.
“What did he say?”
“Asked about you.”
“Concerned?”
“Very.”
“Too concerned?”
“Yes.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That you escaped.”
“And?”
“He wants to increase the search.”
I sat straighter.
“Of course he does.”
“There’s more.”
His voice lowered.
“Dante suggested the Valenti family might be helping you.”
My blood chilled.
“He’s reinforcing the story.”
“Yes.”
“Did you believe him?”
“I threw a glass at a wall.”
I blinked.
“You what?”
“I needed him to believe I did.”
For some reason I pictured Lorenzo calmly selecting the least expensive glass.
“You’re enjoying this.”
“No.”
“You sound like you’re enjoying it.”
“I enjoy lying to liars.”
That was the Lorenzo I knew.
But by the third day, the investigation turned darker.
Marco obtained traffic footage near the suspected warehouse.
A black sedan had entered the property on the night I was abducted.
The plate belonged to a company controlled by Valenti.
Two hours later, a second vehicle arrived.
Registered to one of Dante’s shell businesses.
Proof.
Not complete.
But close.
Then Reynolds provided something worse.
An audio recording.
He had secretly recorded his conversation with Dante because he was frightened.
In it, Dante clearly ordered him not to drive me that Tuesday night.
“Family security matter,” Dante said.
Then another line.
“Don’t make me remind you what happens to people who choose the wrong side.”
When Lorenzo heard it, he went silent.
For a long time.
Then he asked, “Why?”
That question was answered that same night.
Marco intercepted a financial transfer.
Twenty-two million dollars.
From a Valenti-controlled offshore account.
To Dante.
But money was not the true motive.
The real motive appeared in an email archive.
Dante wanted Lorenzo removed as head of the Bianco family.
Valenti would help destroy Lorenzo’s credibility.
The runaway bride scandal was only the beginning.
Once Lorenzo appeared weak, unstable, humiliated, Dante intended to challenge his leadership.
Then absorb what remained of Bianco territory in an alliance with Valenti.
“They used me to break you,” I whispered.
Lorenzo’s voice came through the phone.
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
“I should have told you.”
“You were threatened.”
“I still should have trusted you.”
“You trusted me enough to sacrifice yourself.”
“That’s not the same.”
“No.”
His voice softened.
“It’s worse.”
I pressed the phone against my ear.
Neither of us spoke.
Then Lorenzo said, “Come home.”
My eyes burned.
“I can’t yet.”
“Amelia.”
“Not until Dante is finished.”
A pause.
“What are you thinking?”
“I want him to believe he won.”
Lorenzo became very quiet.
That usually meant he hated an idea because it was good.
“What do you want to do?”
“Contact him.”
“No.”
“You haven’t even heard the plan.”
“No.”
“Lorenzo.”
“No.”
“He thinks I hate you.”
“No.”
“He thinks I’m terrified of the Bianco family.”
“No.”
“He expects me to seek protection.”
“No.”
“Are you capable of saying anything else?”
“Yes.”
I waited.
“No.”
I nearly laughed.
Then a car door slammed outside the farmhouse.
I froze.
Marco had left forty minutes earlier for groceries.
No one else knew this location.
“Amelia?” Lorenzo said.
I moved toward the window.
“Someone’s here.”
“Marco?”
“I don’t think so.”
A black sedan stopped near the barn.
The driver stepped out.
My breath caught.
I knew him.
Dante.
He looked directly toward the farmhouse window.
And smiled.
My blood turned to ice.
“Lorenzo.”
“What?”
“He found me.”
The front door handle moved.
I backed away.
Then Dante’s voice came calmly through the wood.
“Amelia.”
He knocked once.
“Open the door.”
I gripped the phone.
“Why?”
His answer made every hair on my arms rise.
May you like
“Because Lorenzo isn’t the only man who knows what really happened before your wedding.”
And then the lock began to turn.
