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TRAPPED WITH THE MAFIA BOSS 130
Agent Hammer sat propped in bed, tubes threading his arms, his face hollowed out but his eyes blazing now—awake, alive, memory a jagged blade slicing through the fog. It’d hit him this morning, brutal and whole; no more mumbles, just names, a gunshot’s echo searing his skull. Director Monroe loomed over him, gray trench coat dripping rain onto the tiles, recorder trembling in his grip, voice low and fierce. “Tell me, Hammer—who did it? Everything, now.”Hammer’s voice scraped out, rough as broken glass, but firm; his hands clutched the sheet, veins bulging with the strain of truth. “Jeremiah—not Jeremy; Jeremiah shot me. Docks.” His breath hitched, ragged; his eyes burned, wet with rage and shame. “Jeremy was there too. And some African warlord, Flinco. They raided the watch house, hit us like a storm. Everyone's dead right? I failed the Agency, Sir.” His chest heaved, a sob choking off; the weight of it crushed him—months lost, a life stolen.Monroe’s face hardened, a hunter scenti
TRAPPED WITH THE MAFIA BOSS 129
The Rome alley was a black gash, rain-soaked stones slick under a stuttering streetlamp, the air thick with damp rot.Donnie Greco lurched through it, his charcoal blazer torn at the shoulder, breath rasping as he threw a wild glance back. He’d ditched the campaign office an hour ago. Luca’s “robbery” jab still a splinter in his skull—but the streets had claws tonight. He’d sensed the tail, the boots’ echo; now they’d struck.Luca erupted from the dark, a juggernaut in a drenched denim jacket, hands snagging Donnie’s collar. He slammed him into the wall; brick smashed Donnie’s spine, rain biting his face as his head snapped back, teeth clacking hard. “Who’re you feeding, Greco?” Luca snarled, voice a guttural roar over the storm’s hiss. “Cali’s got us spinning—you’re the leak, huh?”Donnie’s world blurred, blood flooding his mouth; he spat it onto the wet stone, stalling desperate. “I don’t—” Luca’s fist crashed into his jaw, a hammer blow spinning him sideways; he hit the wall agai
TRAPPED WITH THE MAFIA BOSS 128
Elena's POVI sit in the nursery, the air still and cool, a dry March night pressing against the estate’s stone walls. Sicily’s quiet tonight—no rain, just a faint breeze sneaking through the shutters, rustling the curtains like a whisper I can’t quite catch. JJ sleeps in his crib, his tiny chest rising and falling, soft breaths puffing from lips parted just enough to show a glimpse of teeth. The crib is worth than many people's monthly salary. He’s got Jeremy’s jaw, stubborn even in sleep, and my sister’s curls—dark, wild, a ghost I can’t shake. I lean back in the rocking chair, wood creaking under me, my taupe sweater loose around my shoulders; I watch him, but my mind’s not here. It’s back there—Michigan, the bathtub, the letter. Serena. How I got here, pretending to be her, living her shadow. How it’s all unraveling now, thread by thread.It started few years ago, though it feels like a lifetime—or maybe just yesterday, the way memory cuts. I was a pediatric nurse then, workin
TRAPPED WITH THE MAFIA BOSS 127
The hospital room was a sterile vault, its walls a stark white that swallowed sound, the air thick with antiseptic and the faint hum of machines. Rain lashed the window, a cold March downpour drenching the city—typical Roman weather this season, wet and unyielding, turning cobblestones slick. Agent Hammer lay knotted in sheets, a husk of his former self, tubes threading his arms, chest rising slow under the monitor’s steady beep. His eyes cracked open, groggy, the world a haze of light and ache. Fragments stabbed his mind—Jeremy’s sharp grin, a gunshot’s echo, a shadow slipping away. Betrayal, maybe; he couldn’t hold it. His throat scraped raw as he mumbled, voice a broken thread. “Face… loud… gone.”A nurse jolted, her clipboard hitting the floor soft; she lunged for the phone, fingers trembling. “He’s awake—Hammer’s awake,” she said, voice tight. An hour later, Director Monroe barreled in, a pitbull in a gray trench coat, rain dripping from his brim onto the tiles. His eyes blaz
TRAPPED WITH THE MAFIA BOSS 126
The next morning, the President’s campaign office in Rome simmered like a pot about to boil over, the air ripe with the bitter sting of scorched coffee and the damp reek of rain-soaked jackets. Outside, a steady March drizzle hammered the windows, a gray shroud over the city—classic Roman weather, cold and stubborn, the kind that chills you deep. Inside, the President prowled the hardwood floor, his burgundy robe flapping loose over a rumpled shirt, fury pulsing off him in jagged waves. Jeremy Cali’s army dodge had hit him like a sucker punch—Sheila’s broadcast still echoing, Rossi’s retreat a public scar. “We’ve got a mole,” he snapped, voice slicing the room, his glare pinning every soul in sight. “Someone tipped Jeremy—root them out, now!”Luca leaned against the conference table, his denim jacket still slick from the morning’s trudge, toothpick swapped for a predator’s stare. He cracked his knuckles slow, deliberate; his voice came low, rough as gravel. “Full sweep. Phones, tex
TRAPPED WITH THE MAFIA BOSS 125
The President burned hotter than a furnace. He paced the hardwood floor, his suit—deep crimson, edges frayed—swinging like a cape, scotch glass clutched tight enough to crack. The watch house hit had gutted him—Sal dead, seven guards down, Jeremy’s shadow everywhere but untouchable. His team sat rigid around the conference table—Maria in a sleek black turtleneck, Luca chewing his toothpick, Sofia hunched over her laptop—watching him unravel.“He’s a dead man!” the President roared, slamming the glass down, amber splashing across poll sheets. “Jeremy Cali butchered my witness—my edge—and you’re all just sitting there? I want him nailed—today!”Maria leaned forward, voice calm but firm, a lawyer’s edge cutting through. “Sir, we’ve got no proof—nothing hard. Our tech guys are digging—cameras, feeds, anything. Give ‘em ‘til end of day—something concrete.”“End of day?” he barked, whirling on her, eyes wild. “I don’t have ‘til end of day! That bastard’s laughing—mocking me on my own turf
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