Sir, She Hurt My Mommy Again,” the Maid’s Toddler Cried

The rain over the East River had turned into a violent coastal gale as four armored black Suburbans moved in tight formation along the Brooklyn waterfront.

Inside the lead vehicle, Lorenzo sat in the rear passenger seat, checking the slide on his custom Kimber .45. I sat beside him, holding an encrypted tactical tablet that tracked the cellular ping of my stolen phone.

"You shouldn't be here, Elena," Lorenzo said quietly, without looking up from his weapon. "This is going to be violent."

"I took the recording, Lorenzo," I replied, meeting his gaze with unyielding, calm resolve. "Vivienne told me that I was an invisible widow who cleaned other people’s floors. I want her father to look into my eyes when his empire burns."

Lorenzo looked at me for three long seconds. The severe, predatory lines of his face softened into something approaching awe.

He reached out, his warm, calloused fingers gently covering my hand where it rested on the leather seat.

"You will never be invisible in this city again, Elena," Lorenzo murmured softly. "I swear that on my mother's memory."

Caleb’s voice crackled through the vehicle’s audio link.

"Target acquired, Boss. Pier 19 is surrounded by twelve armed Rossi contractors. Don Carlo Rossi just arrived in his armored Maybach. He’s meeting with three representatives from the Chicago Outfit to finalize the port takeover."

"Did they wipe the phone?" Lorenzo asked into the mic.

"Negative," Caleb replied. "Our remote cellular lock jammed their degausser's power supply. The phone is live in the second-floor dispatch office."