Chapter 4 - The Boss's Court
They traveled south toward the city in a different vehicle—a silver SUV that Liam retrieved from a hidden storage garage three miles down the mountain. Naomi sat in silence, watching the dense pine trees give way to concrete overpasses, industrial warehouses, and the looming skyline of the metropolitan grid.
The illusion of safety was gone. Greg knew someone powerful was helping her, and a man like Greg, driven by wounded pride, was a loose cannon.
"Where are we going now?" Naomi asked as they entered the city’s industrial district, where shipping containers were stacked like giant colorful bricks along the river.
"To see the Boss," Liam answered calmly. "Don Moretti."
Naomi’s chest tightened. "Why? What does your boss have to do with me?"
"I used family resources to move you last night," Liam explained, turning down a narrow cobblestone street lined with old brick meatpacking plants. "I used a secondary safehouse and put a target on a property tied to our logistics grid. Don Moretti demands accountability for every dollar, every car, and every distraction. I have to report the incident."
"Are you in trouble because of me?"
Liam glanced at her, his jaw firm. "I handle my own trouble, Naomi. Just let me do the talking. Speak only if he asks you a direct question. Do not lie, do not exaggerate, and do not show weak tears. Don Manuel respects strength and truth—nothing else."
They pulled up to a high brick wall topped with razor wire. A heavy iron gate swung open after a guard in a sharp charcoal suit recognized Liam’s vehicle. Inside was a quiet courtyard surrounding a grand three-story limestone building that looked like a 1920s banking hall.
Liam led her through heavy oak doors into a vast room with marble floors, high arched ceilings, and leather couches. Men in tailored suits stood in quiet clusters, their conversations dying down the moment Liam walked in. Their eyes shifted from Liam down to Naomi—taking in her oversized sweatpants, her bruised jaw, and her raw, frightened expression.
At the far end of the hall, behind a massive mahogany desk, sat Don Manuel Moretti.
He was a man in his late sixties, with silver hair combed back neatly, dark penetrating eyes, and a tailored navy suit that looked immaculate. He was cutting the end of a thick cigar with a silver tool when Liam and Naomi approached the desk.
Two heavy-set men stood behind the Don, their arms crossed, their jackets bulging subtly at the hip.
"Liam," Don Moretti spoke, his voice deep, rich, and carrying a smooth Italian accent. "I heard there was smoke on the mountain this morning."
"There was a small fire, Don Manuel," Liam said, bowing his head slightly in respect. "It has been extinguished."
Don Moretti lit his cigar with a wooden match, puffing slowly until a thick ring of blue smoke drifted up toward the high ceiling. Then, his sharp gaze shifted past Liam and locked onto Naomi.
"And this is the cause of the fire?" Moretti asked softly.
"This is Naomi Vance," Liam said. "She was working at the 4th Street diner last night. Her husband was pursuing her with violent intent. I removed her from the situation."
Moretti leaned back in his leather chair, tapping the ash from his cigar into a crystal tray. "You removed a waitress from a domestic dispute using a family vehicle, brought her to a dark house, and then pistol-whipped a civilian who tracked you to the gate. Is this accurate?"
"It is," Liam answered without hesitation.
Moretti’s face remained impassive, but the air in the room grew distinctly colder. "Liam, you are one of my best enforcers. You oversee twenty million dollars in river freight every quarter. You do not get paid to play knight in shining armor for diner girls."
Naomi felt a cold sweat break out across her neck. She stepped forward slightly, ignoring the warning glare Liam shot her from the corner of his eye.
"It wasn't his fault," Naomi said, her voice trembling but clear.
The two guards behind the desk tensed instantly. Don Moretti raised a single eyebrow, holding up a hand to stop his men from stepping forward.
"Go on, child," Moretti said, amused by her sudden boldness.
"I begged him," Naomi swallowed hard, clutching her hands together. "I was trapped. My husband was going to kill me in the parking lot. I spilled coffee on Mr. Liam’s table, and I begged him to hide me. He didn't want to. He just... he couldn't watch a person get slaughtered in front of his breakfast. If anyone is at fault, it’s me. Punish me, not him."
Don Moretti stared at her for a long, agonizing ten seconds. The silence in the marble hall was absolute.
Then, the old man leaned forward, resting his elbows on the polished mahogany desk. His dark eyes softened just a fraction as he looked at the dark purple bruises on her jaw and collarbone.
"What does your husband do, Naomi?" Moretti asked.
"Construction," she whispered. "And his cousin is Deputy Miller at the 5th Precinct."
Moretti’s eyes narrowed slightly. "Deputy Miller. The one who takes bribes from the rival syndicate down at the docks?"
"I... I don't know," Naomi said truthfully. "I just know Greg always brags that his cousin makes complaints disappear."
Don Moretti turned his attention back to Liam. "The husband... did he see your face clearly?"
"He did," Liam replied. "And he threatened to bring county deputies to the mountain."
Moretti puffed on his cigar, contemplating the situation. He leaned back, pointing the glowing tip of the cigar toward Liam.
"You brought a stray dog into my house, Liam," Moretti said flatly. "Now the dog's previous owner is barking at our fence, threatening to bring dirty cops to our door during a sensitive merger with the union bosses."
"I will handle Greg quietly, Don Manuel," Liam offered immediately. "It won't touch the family."
"No," Don Moretti said, his voice dropping into a register that made the hair on Naomi’s arms stand up. "You won't handle him quietly. You brought this drama to my doorstep, so now we deal with it according to our rules."
May you like
Moretti stood up, adjusting his suit jacket. He looked directly at Naomi, his expression unreadable.
"She stays here," Moretti ordered. "In the guest suite on the top floor. Safe, guarded, and fed. As for the husband..." Moretti smiled a cold, ruthless smile that made Naomi’s blood run cold. "...bring him to me. I want to see what kind of man uses his fists on women while taking shelter behind a dirty cop's badge."
