Chapter 6 - THE PRICE OF FAMILY
Z
Naomi knew something had happened before Lorenzo said a word.
His face changed.
Not fear.
Something worse.
Helplessness.
“What happened?”
Lorenzo called Sophia again.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Naomi grabbed his arm.
“Is Amaya okay?”
“I don’t know.”
Those four words broke her.
She stepped backward.
“No.”
Lorenzo caught her shoulders.
“Naomi.”
“No. No, you told me she was safe.”
“She was.”
“You told me nobody could find her!”
“I thought—”
“You thought?”
She shoved him away.
“My sister is seventeen years old!”
Lorenzo let her hit his chest.
Once.
Twice.
Carlo turned away.
Nobody tried to stop her.
“Bring her back!”
Naomi struck Lorenzo again.
“Bring her back!”
Finally her strength disappeared.
Lorenzo caught her as she folded.
Her forehead pressed against his chest.
“I will,” he said.
Naomi cried.
“You don’t know that.”
“No.”
His hand covered the back of her head.
“But I will die trying.”
Thirty minutes later they were aboard Lorenzo’s private jet.
Sophia’s last phone location had pinged near a medical facility outside Toronto.
Mateo’s final move had crossed an ocean.
Lorenzo sat opposite Naomi while Carlo coordinated with Canadian contacts.
Nobody mentioned Mateo’s body.
Nobody mentioned the empire.
For the first time in twenty-five years, Lorenzo had left London without caring who controlled it.
Naomi stared through the aircraft window.
“Tell me about my mother.”
Lorenzo looked up.
“What I know?”
“Anything.”
He leaned back.
“Her name appeared in my father’s papers. He paid for an apartment in Brixton for years.”
“That was ours.”
“I know now.”
“He told my mother he was an old family friend.”
“That sounds like him.”
Naomi looked at Lorenzo.
“Was he a good man?”
Lorenzo thought about it.
“Sometimes.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only honest one.”
He looked down at his hands.
“He could be generous. He could also be ruthless. Men like him usually convince themselves one excuses the other.”
“And you?”
Lorenzo looked at her.
“What about me?”
“Are you a good man?”
Carlo stopped typing.
Even he wanted to hear the answer.
Lorenzo smiled faintly.
“No.”
Naomi studied him.
“But you paid Amaya’s bills.”
“That doesn’t erase other things.”
“You saved me.”
“Same answer.”
She looked away.
“My mother used to say bad people rarely worry about whether they’re bad.”
Lorenzo said nothing.
The jet landed before dawn Canadian time.
Two SUVs waited.
Sophia’s clinic showed signs of violence.
The front glass was shattered.
Blood marked the reception floor.
Lorenzo entered first.
“Sophia!”
A groan came from behind the desk.
Carlo rushed forward.
Sophia lay there with a gunshot wound through her shoulder.
Alive.
Lorenzo dropped beside her.
“Where’s Amaya?”
Sophia opened her eyes.
“They took her.”
Naomi made a sound Lorenzo would remember for the rest of his life.
She collapsed beside Sophia.
“Who?”
“Three men.”
Sophia grimaced.
“One called the other Dryland.”
Lorenzo looked at Carlo.
Mateo’s Albanian bodyguard.
Mateo had planned for his own death.
Sophia reached into her coat.
“Girl fought.”
A weak smile.
“Like hell.”
She handed Naomi a silver bracelet.
Amaya’s.
Naomi held it against her lips.
Sophia continued.
“They said Lorenzo has six hours to give them the trust documents.”
Lorenzo looked at the wall clock.
Four hours remained.
A burner phone rang on the reception desk.
Carlo picked it up.
“Boss.”
Lorenzo answered.
Dryland’s voice.
“You killed Mateo.”
“He tried to kill Naomi.”
“He was my employer.”
“He was everybody’s employer until he stopped paying.”
Dryland laughed.
“I don’t care about Mateo. I care about the twenty million he promised.”
“Then we can talk.”
“No. You listen.”
A video arrived.
Amaya sat tied to a chair.
She was pale but alive.
Naomi grabbed the phone.
“Amaya!”
In the video, her sister looked directly into the camera.
“Don’t give them anything, Nay.”
A man struck the back of the chair.
Lorenzo’s expression turned deadly.
Dryland spoke.
“Bring the original trust papers and Naomi Blake to Pier Eight. Noon.”
“No.”
Naomi stared at Lorenzo.
Dryland went silent.
Lorenzo continued.
“You get the documents. You don’t get Naomi.”
“Then the girl dies.”
“You kill her, the documents become worthless.”
“You’re bluffing.”
“I don’t bluff with family.”
The word stopped Naomi.
Family.
Lorenzo ended the call.
Carlo looked stunned.
“You just hung up.”
“Yes.”
“What’s the plan?”
Lorenzo looked at Naomi.
“We give him exactly what he asked for.”
Naomi frowned.
“You just said—”
“I lied.”
At eleven fifty, snow began falling over Toronto Harbor.
Naomi sat beside Lorenzo in an SUV.
“You should have left me at the clinic.”
“You wouldn’t have stayed.”
“No.”
“So why argue?”
She looked at him.
“You’ve known me three days.”
“Feels longer.”
Despite herself, she smiled.
Then it vanished.
“If something happens to Amaya—”
“It won’t.”
“You cannot promise that.”
“I know.”
Lorenzo reached across the space between them.
Naomi looked at his hand.
Then placed hers inside it.
It was the first time either of them acknowledged what had been building since that warehouse in London.
No dramatic kiss.
No confession.
Just fingers interlocking in a dark vehicle while snow fell outside.
At Pier Eight, Dryland waited with five men.
Amaya knelt near the edge of the frozen water.
A gun pointed at her head.
Naomi tried to move.
Lorenzo held her back.
“Wait.”
Dryland shouted.
“Documents!”
Lorenzo raised a leather folder.
“Girl first.”
Dryland laughed.
“That isn’t how this works.”
“It is today.”
Dryland signaled.
One man pulled Amaya to her feet.
Lorenzo threw the folder halfway across the concrete.
Dryland sent a man to retrieve it.
He opened the papers.
Smiled.
Then Naomi whispered, “Lorenzo.”
He followed her gaze.
High above them, on a warehouse roof, sunlight flashed against glass.
A scope.
Sniper.
But the rifle was not pointed at Lorenzo.
It was pointed at Dryland.
A shot cracked.
Dryland dropped.
Chaos exploded.
Lorenzo dragged Naomi behind the SUV.
Carlo fired.
Amaya ran.
The second sniper bullet hit one of Dryland’s men.
Lorenzo looked toward the rooftop.
“That isn’t ours.”
Within seconds, the remaining kidnappers fled.
Naomi ran to Amaya and wrapped her in both arms.
Lorenzo looked up at the roof.
A figure stood there.
Tall.
Gray coat.
Then disappeared.
Lorenzo knew the coat.
Declan Shaw.
Minutes later, Lorenzo’s phone buzzed.
A single message.
May you like
WE’RE NOT EVEN.
WE’RE JUST FINALLY PLAYING THE SAME GAME.
