Chapter 5 - The Trap in the Rain
The autumn rain was coming down in sheets, turning the asphalt of the Brooklyn side-streets into a slick, shimmering mirror reflecting neon signs and taillights. Audrey ran down the alleyway, her hood pulled low over her wet hair, the heavy duffel bag slamming against her hip with every stride.
She had escaped the apartment, but she knew the neighborhood was already compromised. Men like Lorenzo Falcone didn't send two amateurs; those were perimeter guards. The main force was waiting at the perimeter.
Sure enough, as she broke out onto the corner of Atlantic Avenue, a sleek black Mercedes sedan pulled out from the shadows without its headlights on, cutting off her path to the subway entrance.
The passenger door swung open.
A man stepped out into the rain, holding a black umbrella. It wasn't Silvio Bardi. It was Lorenzo Falcone himself, wearing a dark trench coat that caught the streetlights, looking entirely unbothered by the downpour.
“Running away so soon, Caterina?” Lorenzo called out over the hiss of the rain, his voice calm and carrying effortlessly across the wet pavement. “And here I thought we were just getting acquainted.”
Audrey stopped dead in her tracks. Her hand slipped inside her coat pocket, her fingers wrapping around the cold steel handle of a compact switchblade she had carried since she was sixteen.
“Stay back, Lorenzo,” she warned, her voice cutting through the rain like a razor. “I’m not the little girl hiding in the Palermo cellar anymore.”
Lorenzo took a slow step forward, ignoring the rain streaming down his face. He looked at her with a terrifying mixture of fascination and predatory triumph.
“I know you’re not,” Lorenzo said softly. “If you were, you wouldn’t have broken my enforcer’s kneecap with a cast-iron skillet twenty minutes ago. Silvio is currently crying in the back of an ambulance while the ER doctors try to reset his tibia.”
“Next time, it won’t be his knee,” Audrey spat.
“Maybe not,” Lorenzo smiled, a dark, handsome expression that felt entirely lethal. “But you aren't going to Vancouver tomorrow, Caterina. Your flight ticket is cancelled. Your bank accounts in New York have been flagged by a federal subpoena. And your shoebox apartment is currently being sanitized by my cleaning crew.”
Audrey’s blood ran cold. “You locked me out.”
“I secured you,” Lorenzo corrected gently. “Because your father’s old enemies from the Palermo syndicates didn’t die in that fire ten years ago, Caterina. They survived. And word just leaked through the transatlantic wire that a girl answering your description was spotted working in a Manhattan restaurant.”
Audrey stared at him, the rain blurring her vision. “What are you talking about?”
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“I’m talking about a death warrant,” Lorenzo said, taking another step closer, his voice dropping to an urgent, commanding whisper. “The men who burned your villa didn't finish the job. They’re here in New York. And the only reason you aren't already floating in the East River is because you walked into my restaurant tonight.”
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