9. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

Daniella

I wake up with a headache, which is odd because I didn’t drink at all over the past week. All I’ve done is work and go home and go to bed. I tried texting him a few times, but he hasn’t replied to me.

Either something terrible is going on with his business, or he is ghosting me on purpose. I hate myself that I feel so disappointed that he isn’t answering me.

I’ve spent the past ten days struggling to sleep each night, plagued by images of the incredible sex that I’ve had with Lorenzo.

Each night I end up turning to my small stockpile of sex toys over and over again, wishing that the orgasms that they give me were half as good as the ones I’ve enjoyed with him.

It’s no use pretending that I’m in over my head now. There’s not much that could convince me to stay away from Lorenzo at this point, My very DNA is calling for him. If he wasn’t ignoring me so resolutely, I’d have been willing to let him fuck me each and every night.

I feel my stomach roiling with unease and I roll onto my side, wrapping my arms around my body. I close my eyes tightly, willing the rising tide of bile to stay down. I lose the battle abruptly and fumble out of bed to race to the bathroom.

I just manage to pull my hair to the side as I’m violently sick, my empty stomach heaving. I choke and cough, and slither down onto the floor, pressing my cheek against the cool tiles. I hate throwing up more than anything in the world and I grumble a little in frustration as I wait for the feeling of sickness to subside.

I call in sick to the office and huddle up under two layers of blankets. Maybe I’m coming down with something.

The nausea stays with me through the day and I can’t even complain because I am taking it as my punishment from the heavens. Maybe it is Jeremy’s way of telling me that he deserves better than me making such a mess of finding out what happened to him.

After a few hours of lying around, I decide that instead of letting the guilt drown me, I might as well turn to do something productive.

So, I get up and turn on my computer. That’s when I get the notification that Mark has sent me an email. Adrenaline and something more courses through my veins, and I click on the email.

To my surprise, he is offering to meet me at Café Bella, a nearby coffee shop. My heart pounds with a mix of anticipation and anxiety as I prepare for the meeting, my illness forgotten.

Café Bella is a quaint little coffee shop tucked away on a quiet street corner, exuding an old-world charm that immediately puts me at ease. The exterior is painted a warm, inviting shade of terracotta, with large windows framed by dark wooden panels. Hanging baskets overflowing with vibrant flowers add a splash of color to the rustic facade.

As I step inside, I’m greeted by the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the soft hum of conversation. The interior is cozy, with exposed brick walls adorned with vintage Italian posters and sepia-toned photographs.

The wooden floors creak gently underfoot, adding to the shop’s nostalgic ambiance.

Small, round tables are scattered throughout the space, each adorned with a simple vase of fresh flowers. Comfortable chairs upholstered in deep burgundy fabric invite patrons to linger and relax.

The coffee shop is quiet, with only a few patrons scattered around. I spot Mark at a corner table, his intense eyes scanning the room.

He’s a man in his forties, with a rugged appearance and an air of cautious confidence. Even from a distance, his intense gaze is palpable.

He’s a man who looks like he’s seen more than his fair share of the world’s darker side. His rugged appearance, marked by a scruffy beard and sharp features, gives him the air of someone who’s been through battles, both literal and metaphorical.

Approaching the table, I can’t help but notice the way he sizes up the room, his eyes flicking to each entrance and exit, taking in every detail.

He’s cautious, methodical, and his presence alone demands respect. There’s a quiet authority about him, an unspoken understanding that he knows the risks involved in his line of work and has accepted them long ago.

Yet, as I get closer, there’s something else in his eyes—a glint of warmth, a hint of understanding. It’s subtle, but it’s there, suggesting that despite his hardened exterior, he’s genuinely here to help.

This mix of qualities puts me on alert, but it also makes me curious. Here is a man who doesn’t shy away from danger, who delves into the darkest corners of society to uncover the truth.

I take a deep breath, feeling a mix of anxiety and determination. This is the kind of ally I need if I’m going to find out what happened to Jeremy.

"Daniella?" he asks as I approach. He stretched out his hand and I take it in a firm handshake.

"Yes. Thank you for meeting me."

We sit down, and after ordering our drinks, I dive into my story.

“Jeremy was my fiancé. We were supposed to get married in September. He went out one night for a late business meeting and he didn’t come back. Later that night, I got a call from the police station asking me to come in and identify a body. It was Jeremy.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss.” His tone is not placating. It isn’t condescending either and it is somewhat refreshing to talk to someone about this, someone who didn’t know me before this whole tragedy, someone who can look at the situation objectively.

I nod and take a sip of the too-sweet latte.

“Originally, they didn’t know what caused the accident, just that the brakes had malfunctioned. And when I took the car to the mechanic, I found out that the brake lines had been cut.”

“Jeez. Are you sure?”

“Yes. The guy who checked is someone I trust with my life.”

“And you hadn’t seen Massimo before the funeral?”

I shake my head no.

“He only stayed about five minutes and he lied about knowing Jeremy from college. Jeremy never went to college.”

“How do you know that the Durettis are involved? Massimo Raineri is another scum of the earth. He could’ve been the one to kill your fiancé.”

“I know that. But when I met with Massimo…”

“Wait, what?” Mark’s eyes widen with shock. “What do you mean when you met Massimo?”

“I-I went to see him.”

“He sent you an invitation?”

“No, no, I tracked him down to what I’m guessing was just a hideout of his, because it was pretty rundown. He was wearing twenty-thousand-dollar Louboutin’s. Seems weird that he would have any of his businesses in such a shitty part of town.”

“Let me get this straight. You went to see Massimo. You walked into what sounds like a pretty scary part of town all by yourself?”

I nod and he continues.

“You talked to him about all of this, and he actually answered your questions? He let you walk out alive?”

“Yes. I wasn’t thinking clearly when I went there, but…”

“That’s an understatement. Massimo once put a bullet in a man’s head because he breathed too loudly. No, I’m not fucking with you, nor am I exaggerating. Lorenzo Duretti is capable of calculated evil, but Massimo is just plain evil.”

Shivers run down my spine at the thought of how stupid I had been going there to see him. Frankly, I was more stupid for fucking Lorenzo over and over again.

“If we are going to work together Daniella, I need to know that I can count on you not to make stupid decisions. You’re no good to either of us if you’re dead.”

He sounds so matter of fact and normally I would probably be offended, but that’s not even a luxury I can afford now.

“I understand that. I promise I’m a lot more level-headed now.” It’s also not lost on me that he said we will be working together, which I’m taking as a victory.

“Well, you’ve already gone into the lion’s den and come out unscathed, you might as well tell me how he likes to play.”

“I don’t know, I didn’t get a lot from him. I was barely there for five minutes. He told me that Jeremy had been working for the Duretti’s, but he wouldn’t say anything else.”

“Hmm.” Mark holds his mug in his two hands as he thinks about what I’ve just said.

“There’s every possibility that he was just fucking with you. Massimo is a fan of games, although, not as much as Lorenzo is.”

It is not lost on me how much he seems to know about the two men.

“You keep talking about Lorenzo. He’s the head of the family, right?” I won’t be telling Mark that I know Lorenzo better than I should. There’s no reason to tip my hand that much.

“Yes. For three years now since his father Alexandre, the former Capo, passed.”

"This is… a lot," I say finally, leaning back in my chair.

"The Durettis are dangerous, and Lorenzo is the most dangerous of them all. If he’s involved in Jeremy’s death, you’re in deep trouble."

"I know," I admit, my voice was steady. "But I need to know the truth. Can you help me?"

Mark nods slowly. "I can share what I know, but you'll need to be careful. The Durettis have eyes and ears everywhere. Any wrong move and they'll know."

"I understand. Thank you, Mark."

Over the next hour, Mark provides a detailed overview of the Duretti family’s operations, their key members and their known associates.

He explains that Lorenzo, despite his ruthless reputation, is a man of calculation and care. If Jeremy crossed him, it would have had to have been for a significant reason.

“The Duretti family,” Mark begins, “originated in Sicily, Italy. They started as a small-time crime syndicate but quickly grew in power and influence by capitalizing on the chaos of World War II. They established a reputation for ruthlessness and strategic cunning, which allowed them to control key smuggling routes across the Mediterranean.”

I nod, absorbing the information. “How did they transition to operations here in the States?”

“Post-war, they saw an opportunity in the United States, particularly in New York and Chicago. They set up legitimate businesses as fronts for their criminal activities. Over the decades, they’ve expanded into various sectors, both legal and illegal. The Duretti family produces rum and whiskey, owns a clothing brand, and operates a private security company. These are just the surface-level operations.”

He pauses, taking a sip of his coffee before continuing. “Beneath that veneer of legitimacy, they’re deeply entrenched in drug trafficking, money laundering, and bribery. Their influence extends to high-ranking officials, ensuring their operations run smoothly without interference from law enforcement.”

“Their business must be worth billions,” I say, trying to grasp the scale of their operations.

“It is. They’ve mastered the art of laundering money through countless shell companies. Each company serves a specific purpose, funneling dirty money into clean streams that are nearly impossible to trace.”

“Who runs the family now?” I ask, eager to understand more about the leadership.

“Lorenzo Duretti, of course. He is both feared and respected. He’s known for his calculated moves and ruthless enforcement of loyalty. Under him, there’s a clear chain of command. His right-hand man, Victor Tomasso, handles much of the dirty work, ensuring their operations remain unchallenged. Beneath Victor are several lieutenants who manage various sectors of their empire.”

Mark continues, “They also employ a network of spies and informants within law enforcement and other rival organizations. This web of influence makes them nearly untouchable. Any threat to their power is dealt with swiftly and brutally.”

The weight of his words sinks in. The Duretti family is a well-oiled machine of corruption and violence, with tendrils reaching into every corner of society. It’s no wonder they’ve managed to evade the law for so long.

“Is there anyone within the organization who might be willing to talk?” I ask, grasping for any possible lead besides Lorenzo. I can’t face the idea of trying to collect information from Lorenzo right now. It seems too impossible.

Mark shakes his head. “It’s unlikely. The Duretti family instills a culture of fear and loyalty. Betrayal is met with severe consequences, not just for the individual, but for their families as well. That kind of fear keeps people in line.”

I sit back, feeling the enormity of the task ahead. “Thank you, Mark. This helps a lot.”

“Look, you’re young. I’d be remiss if I didn’t warn you that this is a dangerous world. It isn’t like you see in the movies. People die because of their dealings with these crime families. I should know.”

He gets a solemn look in his eyes, and for a moment, he looks like he’s been transported somewhere else, somewhere far away, and definitely not a good place.

“You can choose to move on. It won’t be easy. You probably loved your fiancé very much but getting involved in this isn’t worth it if it means you might die.”

“It is worth it. Jeremy would’ve done the same and more for me. He would have walked right into the fires of hell for me. He would walk into the lion’s den, bathed in blood and fear, if it meant that he could get the truth for me, avenge me. I cannot give up now because there’s a possibility of danger. I have to do this.”

My response seems to please him because he smiles a little. It is barely even a smile, but it is something.

“Good. You mentioned in your email that you’ve met Lorenzo as well. I should say that I am impressed by your ability to survive situations that others wouldn’t.”

I don’t know whether to take that as a compliment or what to even say, so I say nothing.

“How did you meet him?”

“We got briefly acquainted at The Garden of Eden.”

“You went to his club?” I nod, and he looks me over.

“I suppose you are beautiful. I apologize, I didn’t mean that to be offensive.”

I wave his apology away, wondering what he would do if I told him that we’ve been sleeping together and it wasn’t even coerced.

“I…” but before I can ask him why he knows so much about the Durettis, why his face squeezes in hate every time Lorenzo’s name is mentioned, he hands me a small notebook.

"Keep this with you. It has some names and places that might be useful. And remember, trust no one."

I take the book and flip through the pages, I see that he has written his phone number on the first page. I nod.

“I’ll be in touch.”