Chapter 9
Lorenzo turned his back on Victor and walked slowly toward Julian. The younger man was trembling violently, his tailored suit completely ruined, blood soaking his collar and tie. Lorenzo did not touch him. He simply stood there, an immaculate, handsome monument of masculine power, radiating a cold, absolute authority.
“You thought you were clever, Julian,” Lorenzo said, measuring the pauses between his words like a metronome ticking down the seconds of a bomb. “You thought because you wore expensive suits and spoke well, you could play in the deep water. But you are not a shark. You are chum.”
“Please, Mr. Ravelli,” Bianca begged from the wall, sliding down until her knees hit the floor. Her elegant dress bunched around her legs, her diamond jewelry clicking softly. “We’ll leave the country. You’ll never see us again.”
“You are absolutely right, Bianca,” Lorenzo said, not looking at her. “I will never see you again.”
Lorenzo pulled his own phone from the pocket of his suit trousers. He dialed a single number. The call was answered on the first ring.
“Bring the cleanup crew to the fourth floor,” Lorenzo said into the phone, his American accent smooth and professional. “And prepare three cars for transport to the harbor.”
He hung up the phone and slipped it back into his pocket.
“The harbor?” Victor gasped, his fair skin turning the color of ash. “Lorenzo, you can't! We’re high-profile! People know we’re here! The hospital cameras—”
“The hospital cameras on this floor have been disabled for the last thirty minutes,” Lorenzo interrupted calmly. “And as for your profile, Victor? By tomorrow morning, the financial world will learn that the Mercer family fled the country to avoid massive embezzlement charges. Your accounts will be drained, your assets seized, and your names disgraced.”
Julian let out a broken sob, dropping to his knees among the scattered paper cups and water bottles. “Lorenzo, please. I’ll do anything. I’ll work for you. I’ll kill Moretti myself! Just let me live!”
“You lack the spine to kill Moretti,” Lorenzo said, looking down at his son-in-law with profound disgust. “And you lack the loyalty to work for me. You sold your own children to settle a debt. There is no redemption for a man who betrays his own blood.”
The heavy maternity doors opened again. Four new men entered the room. They were not dressed in hospital scrubs; they wore dark, heavy work clothes. They moved silently, expertly, carrying heavy black zip-ties and canvas bags.
“Bind them,” Lorenzo ordered softly.
Julian tried to scramble backward, but the men descended on him instantly. In seconds, Julian, Victor, and Bianca were secured, their hands tied brutally tight behind their backs, their protests muffled by thick cloth gags. They writhed on the brightly lit hospital floor, surrounded by the wreckage of their failed plan.
May you like
Lorenzo stood over them, buttoning his suit jacket. He looked incredibly elegant, a stark contrast to the pathetic, bound figures writhing at his feet.
“Take them down the freight elevator,” Lorenzo instructed his men. “I will meet you at the docks.”
