Chapter 4 - The High-Stakes Table
By 11:30 AM, the atmosphere inside the Drake Hotel was electric with hidden tension. On the main floor, the grand wedding was underway—music swelled from the ballroom, champagne flowed, and guests laughed in fine silk and tuxedos.
Meanwhile, on the sub-level floor below, the world was entirely different.
Rosie stood beside Lorenzo inside the private executive boardroom. She had exchanged her standard hotel blazer for a sleek, tailored dark navy suit that hugged her curves with authority. Beside her, Lorenzo looked lethal in a bespoke black suit, flanked by Mateo and four heavily armed guards positioned subtly near the exits.
"You don't have to be in this room, Rosie," Lorenzo said quietly as they waited for Dominic Moretti to arrive. He was adjusting his cufflinks, his voice low. "If things go wrong, Mateo will get you out through the service elevator."
"I told you, I'm not running," Rosie said firmly, adjusting her posture. "If Dominic Moretti thinks he can intimidate this hotel, he needs to see that the people running it aren't afraid of him."
Lorenzo looked at her, a rare, breathtaking smile breaking across his lips. "God, woman. Where have you been hiding all my life?"
Before Rosie could answer, the heavy double doors opened.
Dominic Moretti walked in. He was in his late fifties, gaunt, with slicked-back gray hair, cold blue eyes, and a sharp, cruel face. He was accompanied by six bodyguards, all wearing heavy coats despite the indoor warmth.
"Lorenzo," Dominic sneered, walking to the far side of the conference table. "I see you've bought yourself a hotel. A little grand for a boy from Palermo, isn't it?"
"I like high ceilings, Dominic," Lorenzo replied coolly, taking a seat at the head of the table. He gestured for Rosie to sit directly at his right hand. "Makes it easier to breathe when garbage rolls in from New York."
Dominic’s eyes snapped to Rosie, analyzing her plus-size frame, her composed expression, and the official Drake crest pinned to her lapel. "Who's the girl? A secretarial distraction?"
"This is Rosie Hastings," Lorenzo said, his tone dropping into a deadly register. "She is the Managing Director of this establishment. And if you speak to her with disrespect again, Dominic, you won't walk out of this room to catch your flight home."
Dominic sneered, but a flicker of caution crossed his eyes. He sat down, crossing his legs. "Let's cut the theater, Bianca. You have two million dollars of high-grade microchips stored in the sub-basement. My men put them there. I want them moved out today."
"Those chips were stolen from my shipping containers at the port," Lorenzo countered smoothly. "They belong to me. And you used my hotel's compromised staff to hide them."
"Possession is nine-tenths of the law, kid," Dominic smirked. "You return my cargo, or I leak to the federal prosecutors that the Bianca family is running an illegal smuggling ring out of the historic Drake Hotel. The press will destroy this place before sunset. Your investment will be worth zero."
The room went dead silent. Mateo's hand drifted subtly toward the shoulder holster beneath his jacket.
Rosie sat up straight, opening a black leather folder she had brought with her.
"Actually, Mr. Moretti," Rosie’s clear, resonant voice cut through the tension like a glass breaking on tile.
Dominic glared at her. "Keep your mouth shut, girl."
"The cargo in cellar four isn't microchips anymore," Rosie said calmly, turning a page in her folder. "At 4:00 AM this morning, under my direct supervision as hotel manager, city health inspectors and federal customs agents conducted a routine sweep of our disused storage facilities."
Dominic froze. "What?"
"We found unregistered electronic goods," Rosie continued smoothly, leaning forward. "Since they were abandoned on hotel property without a legal bill of lading, they were impounded under Federal Code 19. They are currently being transported to a secure federal vault in Elgin."
Dominic stood up so fast his chair skidded across the floor. "You stupid bitch!"
In a flash, Lorenzo was on his feet. Before Dominic’s guards could draw their weapons, Lorenzo pulled a suppressed pistol from his jacket and aimed it straight between Dominic’s eyes. Mateo and the Bianca guards drew simultaneously, red laser sights painting the chests of the New York mobsters.
"Say another word to her," Lorenzo whispered, his voice trembling with a terrifying, icy rage. "Give me an excuse."
Dominic breathed heavily, his face turning pale as he realized he had been completely outmaneuvered. He looked from the laser sight on his chest to Rosie, who hadn't even flinched when the guns were drawn.
"You tipped off the feds?" Dominic hissed at her.
"I protected my hotel from illegal liability," Rosie replied coldly, matching his glare. "And since the federal paper trail lists the Moretti logistics firm as the registered shipper, I believe you have about two hours before the FBI arrives at your suite to ask questions."
Dominic stared at her in utter disbelief. He realized he was trapped. If he stayed, he would be arrested. If he shot Lorenzo, his men wouldn't make it out of the building alive.
"This isn't over, Bianca," Dominic spat, backing away slowly toward the door. "And you... girl... you're a dead woman walking."
"Get out," Lorenzo ordered, his voice echoing off the walls.
Dominic and his men retreated hastily, the doors slamming shut behind them.
As soon as they were gone, Lorenzo lowered his weapon and turned to Rosie. The cold killer vanished, replaced by an expression of deep, overwhelming concern.
"Did you really call the feds?" Lorenzo asked.
May you like
Rosie offered a small, triumphant smile. "No. I bribed the city health inspector fifty bucks to sign a fake impound notice, and had my catering staff move the crates into the main freezer where the wedding ice sculptures are kept. The Morettis just ran away from a ghost."
Lorenzo stared at her for three full seconds before throwing his head back and laughing—a rich, booming sound that filled the room.
