The Mafia Boss Abandoned a Million-Dollar War When His Secretary Whispered, “Come Get Me” — But the Real Betrayal Was Waiting Beside Him.

PART 7

Morning came slowly, turning the city sky the color of bruised steel.

Priya woke in the guest room wearing one of Dante’s T-shirts. For several seconds, she did not remember where she was. Then the sound of breaking wood returned.

She sat upright, lungs tightening, and named five things she could see. White wall. Black lamp. Closed door. Gray blanket. Silver handle.

The panic receded enough for her to stand. She found oversized sweatpants in the dresser and walked into the main living area.

The penthouse had transformed overnight.

Maps covered the kitchen island. Burner phones lay beside coffee cups. Five men in rumpled suits spoke in low voices.

Marcus Reyes, Dante’s dock supervisor, stood over a street map. A scar crossed the front of his throat. Everett Voss leaned beside him, narrow-faced and restless. Two other lieutenants guarded the windows. Silas stood near the espresso machine.

Dante occupied the center of the room, dressed in dark jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt pushed to his elbows.

“Marchetti pulled his street crews from the south side,” Marcus said. “They’re arming the warehouses.”

“They’re waiting for us to retaliate,” Dante replied.

“We should give them what they want,” Everett Voss said. “Hit three locations before noon.”

“And expose ourselves while they know we’re angry?”

“They burned our name in their club.”

“They touched something that belonged to me.”

Priya stopped.

Silas noticed her first. “Morning, Miss Osei.”

Every head turned. Dante crossed the room and stood in front of her, subtly blocking the maps and weapons from view.

“You’re awake.”

“I gathered that.”

“I can move this meeting elsewhere.”

“No.”

She stepped around him. The men shifted aside instinctively. Her gaze fell on the untouched espresso machine.

“You have been awake all night, and no one has made coffee?”

Marcus looked uncomfortable. “There are too many buttons.”

“It has four buttons.”

“Four too many.”

Priya opened the coffee beans. The familiar task steadied her. As the grinder started, she examined the map.

Red marks surrounded the docks and Dante’s main warehouses.

“You’re reinforcing the waterfront,” she said.

“The Marchettis moved their people,” Everett Voss explained.

“Which is why they won’t attack there.”

The men looked at her. Priya pointed to a smaller mark several blocks inland.

“They need money to fight. Your Fifth Street distribution company processes most of your cash-based businesses.”

Silas’s eyes narrowed. “That location isn’t public.”

“It appears in seven legitimate filings, including the liability policy I renewed in March.”

She poured the first espresso.

“If the Marchettis strike the docks, they meet armed resistance. If they strike Fifth Street, they freeze payroll and force Dante to move men away from his strongest position.”

Everett Voss studied the map. “She’s right.”

Dante did not look at the map. He watched Priya.

“Move the perimeter to Fifth,” he ordered.

Silas stepped closer. “That leaves the docks lighter.”

“It leaves the docks looking lighter.”

A faint smile touched Marcus’s face. “We let Marchetti walk into a room we already emptied.”

Priya handed the espresso to Dante. Their fingers touched. The contact lasted less than a second. It felt longer.