Mafia Boss Caught His Fiancée Attacking a Poor Waitress—But His Unexpected Reaction Changed Everything / Chapter 6 / 10

Chapter 6 - The Trap is SprungThe encrypted burner phone on Abel Ferraro’s desk buzzed with a dull, insistent vibration.

Abel picked it up instantly, pressing it to his ear. A distorted, mocking voice came through the speaker, accompanied by the faint sound of dripping water and distant traffic.

"You looking for a girl named Marin, Mr. Ferraro?" the voice chuckled. "Check the coordinates I just texted to this number. Come alone, or the next time you see her, she won't be carrying any trays."

The line went dead.

Abel didn't hesitate. He stood up, drew a compact black automatic pistol from his shoulder holster, and checked the magazine with a practiced click. He walked briskly out of his office toward the executive suite, where Rafe stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows staring out at the river.

"Got a location?" Rafe asked before Abel could even speak.

"Abandoned timber warehouse on the west docks. Pike's men," Abel said grimly. "It's a trap, Rafe. Vance's people are likely backing him up. We should send a full tactical unit—"

"No," Rafe interrupted, turning around with a look in his eyes that made even Abel step back. "If we send a crew, Pike will use her as a shield before we can clear the perimeter. I'm going alone."

"Rafe, that's suicide—"

"It's not suicide, Abel," Rafe said, sliding a sleek steel-barreled weapon into his inner coat pocket. "It's a correction. Nobody touches anyone in my house and walks away. And nobody takes a civilian from my building to settle a petty vendetta."

Within twenty minutes, a black sedan sped through the rain-slicked streets toward the west docks, weaving through industrial alleyways until it slid to a halt in front of the rotting timber warehouse.

Rafe stepped out into the damp chill of the night. The river wind whipped his dark wool coat around his legs like a shroud. He didn't wait for backup. He didn't call the police. He simply walked up to the heavy sliding wooden door of the warehouse, placed his palm flat against the damp wood, and shoved it open.

Inside, the cavernous space was dead silent except for the rhythmic dripping of water from a rusted pipe overhead.

"Pike!" Rafe’s voice echoed off the concrete walls, cold and resonant. "Come out where I can see you!"

A slow, mocking round of applause echoed from the upper catwalk. Warren Pike stepped into the dim pool of light, holding a heavy revolver pressed firmly against Marin Hollis's temple. Marin was bruised, shivering, and tied tightly to her chair, her tear-streaked face looking down in sheer terror as she saw who had walked into the trap.

"Well, look who decided to show up for dinner," Pike laughed hysterically, his finger trembling on the trigger. "The great Rafael Santoro, walking right into the lions' den for a minimum-wage waitress! You really are a fool, Santoro!"