Livy Reed should have died today.
The digital clock on the dashboard of the safehouse sedan glowed, 04:14 AM.
In less than six hours, she was scheduled to step into Courtroom 3B and deliver the testimony that would put the Don of the D’Angelo crime syndicate behind bars.
For eight months, she had lived inside a federal nightmare, relocated three times, stripped of her name, her friends and any semblance of a normal life.
She adjusted the collar of her charcoal blazer, her fingers trembling despite the deep, measured breathing exercises her marshal handlers had drilled into her.
“Ten minutes out, Livy,” Agent Cross said from the driver’s seat.
His eyes flicked briefly to the rearview mirror.
“We’re taking the secondary route.
The primary entrance was compromised.” Livy’s stomach tightened.
“Compromised how?” “An unmarked vehicle was spotted near the courthouse perimeter.
Nothing confirmed, but we’re not taking chances.” Two black SUVs had been following them when they left the safehouse.
One carried another pair of marshals.
The other had been positioned to block traffic ahead of them.
Livy looked through the rear window.
The SUVs were still there.
Then Cross’s radio crackled.
“Unit Two, hold position.
We’ve got a traffic obstruction ahead.” Cross frowned.
“That’s not on the route.” The lead SUV slowed down then stopped.
A delivery truck suddenly swung across the intersection, blocking the road.
“Something’s wrong,” Cross muttered.
Before anyone could react, the black SUV behind them accelerated.
It rammed their rear bumper with enough force to send the sedan forward.
“Brace!” Cross barely finished the warning before a heavy armored vehicle crashed into the passenger side of the sedan, crushing the door and sending the car spinning toward a concrete wall.
The windows shattered, spraying glass everywhere.
Livy’s head slammed against the window, sending a sharp pain through her skull as everything around her seemed to spin.
She heard Cross shouting into his radio.
“Mayday!
We’ve been compromised!” Before she could unfasten her seatbelt, the sedan doors were violently pulled open.
Men dressed in black moved quickly and efficiently.
Agent Cross reached for his gun, but one of the men struck him hard on the head with the butt of a rifle.
He immediately collapsed over the steering wheel.
“Got her.
Move out,” a rough voice ordered over a comms link.
Strong hands grabbed Livy by the arms and dragged her out of the wrecked car as if she weighed nothing.
She kicked and struggled, but the pain in her head made it difficult to fight back.
A thick burlap hood was pulled over her head, plunging her into darkness.
She was thrown into the back of a waiting SUV.
The doors slammed shut, and the car sped away, its tires screeching as it disappeared into the quiet streets.
Livy’s entire body trembled from fear.
She knew the rules of the game.
Syndicate informants didn’t get trials.
They simply vanished.
She braced herself for the inevitable.
A quiet country road, a shallow grave, a bullet behind the head before the sun could even rise on her day in court.
She had no idea how long they had been driving.
Twenty minutes.
An hour.
Maybe more.
Fear had a way of making time meaningless.
The doors pulled open.
Rough hands grabbed her again, pulling her up and pushing her through heavy doors, long hallways, and a private elevator that went straight up.
When the hood was finally taken off, she looked around.
She was not in some damp basement or an empty warehouse.
She was inside a tall penthouse office.
Through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, she could see the city skyline and the sun coming up.
The room looked like a classic CEO’s office.
It had a dark wooden bookshelf, a few leather chairs, and a very large wooden desk.
And sitting behind that desk with a completely relaxed posture, was Antonio D’Angelo.
He wore a well-fitted charcoal suit that emphasized his tall, powerful frame.
His dark hair was slightly gray at the sides, and his sharp features gave him a cold, intimidating appearance.
He was extremely handsome, to say the least.
His piercing eyes met hers, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.
The only sound in the room was the soft hum of the air conditioner.
Livy lifted a trembling hand and wiped her nose.
Her fingers came away with a faint smear of blood.
She quickly wiped it against her skirt.
“Livy Reed,” Antonio said.
His deep, rough voice filling the room with quiet authority.
“I apologize for how my men treated you.
They can be a little…
rough.” Livy swallowed hard, forcing her trembling legs to stop.
She raised her chin, refusing to give him the satisfaction of cringing.
She had always been a wild card, which is what had led her into this mess in the first place.
“You’re too late, Don Antonio,” she said quietly.
“Killing me won’t stop the trial.” Antonio slowly leaned back in his chair and folded his hands on the desk.
A faint smile appeared on his lips.
“Who said anything about killing you?” Livy blinked, confusion mixing with her throbbing headache.
“Then why am I here?” Antonio reached across the desk and slowly pushed a photograph toward her.
Livy’s breath caught.
Her mother’s face stared back at her.
The picture had clearly been taken yesterday.
She recognized the dress her mother had been wearing and the front of their house.
The air seemed to leave Livy’s lungs all at once.
“H-how did you find her?” she whispered, staring at the photographs.
Antonio leaned back in his chair.
“That’s not important.” He pushed the photograph closer.
“What matters is that I can reach her.” Then he opened a drawer and took out a small velvet box placing it on the table.
Inside was a large gold ring.