Bells above diner doors were not supposed to choke, but this one did.

Don Moretti’s private study smelled of aged leather, polished mahogany, and rich pipe tobacco. High bookshelves lined the walls, and a large fire crackled softly in the brick hearth.

Don Moretti sat behind his desk, reviewing a stack of documents. When Liam and Naomi entered, he set his gold pen down and motioned for them to sit in the two leather armchairs opposite him.

"Naomi," Moretti spoke, his tone warm and grand-fatherly. "You look much better today. The color has returned to your cheeks."

"Thank you, Don Moretti," Naomi said respectfully. "For everything you did."

"I did what was necessary to protect my territory and my men," Moretti said, leaning back. "Your husband was a chaotic element that threatened our peace. Removing him was a pleasure."

He turned his gaze to Liam, his expression shifting into something more serious.

"However... business is business, Liam," Moretti said, his voice dropping into a deeper, formal register. "We resolved the situation with the girl's husband, but the noise at the Grandview Hotel attracted unwanted attention from the syndicate across the river. The Rossi family is claiming we violated our boundary agreement by operating near their hotel district."

Liam’s posture tensed instantly. "The Grandview is neutral ground, Don Manuel."

"To us, yes," Moretti countered. "To Salvatore Rossi, it is an excuse to push for a higher cut of the dock tariffs. He wants a meeting tonight at the old cold-storage warehouse on Pier 4. He wants to discuss 'reparations' for our presence in his district."

Naomi felt a cold knot form in her stomach. "Is it dangerous?"

Don Moretti looked at her with a calm, dangerous smile. "In our world, child, every meeting is dangerous. Salvatore Rossi is a greedy, impatient man. He thinks because we were distracted by a domestic issue, we are soft."

Moretti looked back at Liam. "Take Marco and six men. Go to Pier 4 tonight. Hear what Rossi has to say. If he offers reasonable terms, accept them. If he raises his voice or demands our docks..." Moretti’s eyes turned to cold flint. "...finish it."

"Understood, Don Manuel," Liam replied without a moment’s hesitation.

As they walked out of the study, Naomi grabbed Liam’s arm, pulling him into a quiet alcove in the hallway.

"Don't go," she pleaded, her eyes wide with fresh anxiety. "This isn't about Greg anymore, Liam! This is a mob war! You don't have to put your life on the line!"

Liam looked down at her, a faint, gentle smile touching the corner of his lips. He raised his hand, gently brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

"This is my life, Naomi," Liam said softly. "This is what I do. Don Manuel took me off the streets when I was sixteen years old. He gave me a home, a purpose, and a family. I don't abandon my debts."

"And what about us?" The words slipped out of Naomi’s mouth before she could stop them. Her cheeks flushed red, but she didn't look away.

Liam froze, his dark eyes softening as he looked into her face. The cold, ruthless enforcer vanished, replaced by a man who looked deeply, profoundly moved.

"There is no 'us' until you are safe, Naomi," Liam whispered, leaning down slightly, his face inches from hers. "Tonight, I close the final door. When I come back from Pier 4... you and I are going to talk about the future. Real freedom. Away from this city if that’s what you want."

He leaned down and pressed a soft, warm kiss against her forehead—a promise sealed in silence.