Chapter 1 - THE GIRL IN THE WAREHOUSE
Lorenzo kicked the warehouse door so hard that the metal screamed.
His gun was already drawn. Two of his men followed close behind, their flashlights cutting through the darkness.
They had come expecting to find crates of guns that had never arrived.
Instead, they found a woman.
She was tied to a rusty chair in the center of the empty warehouse, ropes biting into her wrists. Dried blood marked the skin beneath her nose. When the flashlight struck her face, her head snapped up.
Lorenzo stopped.
She was beautiful even in that condition.
She looked to be in her early twenties, with light brown skin and tight curls falling loose from what had once been a neat bun. Her hoodie was torn, and she wore jeans. Her chest rose and fell rapidly with fear, but her eyes locked onto Lorenzo as though she had been waiting specifically for him.
He walked directly toward her, knelt, and slowly removed the duct tape from her mouth so it would not tear her skin.
She gasped.
Then her first words stopped him.
“Mateo did this. Your partner Mateo sent them.”
Lorenzo’s hand froze halfway toward the rope around her wrists.
Mateo Russo.
The man Lorenzo had grown up with in Naples.
The man who had saved his life in prison.
The man Lorenzo had made second in command when they took control of the London-Canada shipping line together.
Lorenzo kept his voice low.
“You’ve got the wrong name, sweetheart.”
She shook her head violently. Tears ran down her face, but she did not look away.
“He paid three guys to grab me off Commercial Street two nights ago. Told them to make it hurt. Said you’d never believe me anyway.”
One of Lorenzo’s soldiers, Carlo, stepped closer.
“Boss, we sweep the place or what?”
Lorenzo did not answer.
He cut the ropes instead.
The woman’s wrists were raw and bleeding. She rubbed them, wincing, but continued staring at him as though daring him to accuse her of lying.
Lorenzo asked the question burning in his throat.
“What’s your name?”
“Naomi. Naomi Blake.”
Her voice cracked but remained strong.
“I dance at the club on Curtain Road. Mateo comes every Thursday. Started asking questions about you. Where you keep the real books. Who drives your cars at night.”
Lorenzo felt the first twist in his stomach.
Mateo did sit in the front row every Thursday.
He always tipped generously.
And he always asked the women too many questions.
Naomi continued.
“I told him nothing, so he decided to make me disappear. Said once I’m gone, nobody asks questions.”
Lorenzo slowly stood.
His tattoos shifted across his forearms as his fists clenched. The dragon tattoo on his neck seemed almost alive.
He turned toward Carlo.
“Get the van. We leave now.”
Carlo hesitated.
“Boss, Mateo called ten minutes ago. Said come straight to the dock after this. Said it’s urgent.”
Lorenzo’s eyes hardened.
“Tell him we found rats. Nothing else.”
Naomi attempted to stand, but her legs buckled.
Lorenzo caught her before she reached the floor.
She was warm against him and smelled faintly of blood and vanilla.
She looked up.
“You believe me?”
He did not answer.
Instead, he removed his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. It swallowed her whole.
They moved quickly through the side door and entered a black van. The tires screamed against the empty industrial road in East London as rain began striking the windshield.
Naomi sat across from Lorenzo, hugging her knees.
“He’s going to kill you too when he finds out you took me.”
Lorenzo loaded a fresh magazine into his gun.
“Let him try.”
His phone buzzed.
Mateo.
Lorenzo watched the name through three rings before answering.
Mateo sounded normal.
Too normal.
“You at the warehouse yet, brother?”
Lorenzo looked directly at Naomi.
“Yeah. Found something interesting.”
A tiny pause.
“What kind of interesting?”
Lorenzo smiled without warmth.
“A message. Somebody left a girl here. Beat up bad. Keeps saying your name.”
Silence.
Then Mateo laughed easily.
“Kids these days. Always starting rumors. Bring her to the dock. We’ll sort it.”
Lorenzo ended the call.
He looked at Naomi.
“He just lied to my face.”
Her tears returned.
Quietly this time.
“I told you.”
The van continued toward the dock, streetlights passing across Lorenzo’s sharp features.
He reached over and wiped a tear from Naomi’s cheek with his thumb.
“From now on, you don’t leave my side. You hear me?”
She gave a small nod.
His phone buzzed again.
Unknown number.
A photograph.
Naomi was tied to the same chair.
But Mateo stood behind her, smiling, with one arm around her throat as though they were old friends.
Below it were three words.
SHE WORKS FOR ME.
Lorenzo stared at the screen until the van stopped at a red light.
His grip tightened until the phone case cracked.
Naomi saw his expression change.
“What is it?”
He slowly showed her.
Her mouth opened.
“That’s not—I swear that’s not—”
She lunged for the door.
It was locked.
“Let me out. You don’t understand.”
Lorenzo grabbed her wrist.
Hard.
“Start talking right now, because in thirty minutes we pull up to that dock and one of you is lying. And if it’s you, I put you in the river myself.”
Naomi began shaking so violently that Lorenzo’s jacket slipped from her shoulders.
“Please. Give me five minutes to explain before we get there. That’s all I’m asking.”
The van continued toward the distant dock lights.
Five minutes to decide who was telling the truth.
Instead of taking Naomi to the dock, Lorenzo changed course.
Shortly after four in the morning, his black Range Rover entered a quiet street in Notting Hill.
He killed the engine.
Naomi was curled against the window, eyes red, her body still trembling.
Lorenzo touched her knee.
“We’re here. Nobody knows this place except me.”
He helped her out.
Her legs nearly collapsed beneath her.
Lorenzo caught her and carried her into a small two-up, two-down house with cream walls, simple furniture, and tightly closed shutters.
It was a safe house.
He had bought it for cash three years earlier.
No one knew about it.
Not even Mateo.
Lorenzo placed Naomi on the sofa, retrieved a first-aid kit, and carefully cleaned her injured wrists.
She hissed when the antiseptic touched the raw skin.
“Talk to me.”
Naomi pulled her knees toward her chest.
“Promise me first. Promise you won’t hand me back to Mateo no matter what.”
Lorenzo stopped.
He looked directly into her eyes.
“You’ve got my word.”
Naomi took a trembling breath.
“That picture is from six months ago. Mateo paid me to get close to you. Said just watch, listen, report back. Nothing heavy. I needed the money. My little sister back in Brixton is sick. Hospital keeps sending bills I can’t pay.”
Lorenzo’s jaw tightened.
He remained silent.
“Then three weeks ago, Mateo changed the deal. Said I had to plant a tracker in your car. I said no. That’s when he grabbed me. Said if I didn’t disappear, my sister disappears next.”
Lorenzo handed her a tissue.
Naomi wiped her face, smearing blood and mascara.
He walked to the window and checked through the shutters.
The street was empty.
His phone buzzed.
Mateo again.
Lorenzo ignored it.
“He’s going to know you didn’t bring me to the dock,” Naomi said.
“Let him wonder.”
Lorenzo made two calls.
The first went to Carlo.
“Tell everyone I’m sick. Out for a couple of days. No visits.”
The second went to his cousin Sophia in Toronto.
Sophia ran a private clinic and owed Lorenzo a significant favor.
“I’m sending medical bills to your account. Kid named Amaya Blake. Brixton General. Pay everything. No questions.”
He ended the call and looked at Naomi.
“Your sister’s covered. Now we find out how deep this goes.”
Naomi stared at him.
“You just did that.”
Lorenzo shrugged.
“Family first. Even when it’s not mine.”
Across the city, Mateo was pacing inside a penthouse overlooking the Thames.
His phone remained pressed against his ear.
“He’s not answering. Lorenzo never ignores me.”
His new bodyguard, a large Albanian named Dryland, stood near the door.
“Want me to send boys to his house in Chelsea?”
Mateo shook his head.
“No. He’ll smell that. Double the watch on the routes to Canada. If he moves anything, I know first.”
Mateo poured himself a large whiskey.
His hand was shaking.
“He’s hiding her. I can feel it.”
At the safe house, Lorenzo made strong black coffee and gave Naomi a mug.
She held it with both hands.
“What happens now?”
“Now I watch my best friend of twenty-five years and figure out when he decided to kill me.”
Lorenzo opened his laptop and accessed private cameras installed in warehouses, clubs, and vehicles.
He began reviewing footage from the previous month.
For forty minutes, they found nothing.
Then Naomi leaned toward the screen.
“Stop.”
Lorenzo froze the footage.
It was camera seventeen at the Limehouse depot, recorded nine nights earlier.
Mateo stepped from a black Mercedes.
But he was not alone.
A tall man in a gray overcoat approached him beside container 614.
Naomi went pale.
“You know him?” Lorenzo asked.
“No.”
Her voice had changed.
Lorenzo zoomed in.
The man turned slightly toward the camera.
Lorenzo stopped breathing.
Because he knew that face.
Everyone in their world did.
Declan Shaw.
Head of the Shaw organization.
May you like
The man who had tried to kill Lorenzo twice.
And Mateo was shaking his hand.
