Chapter 3 - THE BLOOD CONTRACTThe room went dead silent, save for the hum of the servers and the thunder crashing outside.
Jericho’s gray eyes burned with a lethal blend of fury and shock. He slowly lowered the gun, his chest rising and falling heavily.
"Who are you?" he demanded, grasping my collar and pulling me flush against his chest. His grip was steel, his power undeniable. "Tell me your real name before I tear this room apart with you in it!"
"Katherine Vance," I breathed, staring back with equal defiance. "Former Captain, Ghost Syndicate. Five years ago, my team was betrayed by our director. They wiped us out. I barely survived. I’ve been hiding ever since."
Jericho stared at me, processing the information. The Ghost Syndicate was a myth to most—an elite, black-budget government cleanup crew.
"Elena..." Jericho’s voice cracked slightly, a rare slip in his armor. "My wife didn't die in a car accident."
"No," I said quietly. "She was collateral damage during a Syndicate hit aimed at Volkov. I was there, Jericho. I tried to pull her out of the vehicle before it exploded. I couldn't save her."
A heavy silence descended. Jericho released my collar, stepping back, his face contorting with pain and rage. He turned away, slamming his fist into the wooden desk, shattering the glass frame of a photo containing him and his late wife.
"For three years," Jericho hissed, his back turned, "I’ve been burning down Miami trying to find the people responsible. And the woman who was there... walks into my house as a nanny."
"I didn't plan this!" I insisted. "I didn't know Rosie was your daughter until the day I helped her at the restaurant. It was a twist of fate."
"There are no coincidences in my world," Jericho snapped. He spun around, pulling a thick document from his desk and tossing a silver pen beside it.
"What is this?" I asked.
"An alliance," Jericho said coldly. "You know the Syndicate's tactics. You know their blind spots. You help me dismantle the men who ordered the hit on my wife, and in return, I give you permanent protection, a new legal identity, and ten million dollars when it's done."
"And if I refuse?"
Jericho stepped closer, his eyes pitch black in the dim light. "If you refuse, I hand you over to Volkov by dawn to buy his truce. You choose, Katherine. Be my partner... or my sacrifice."
I looked at the document, then up at the man who ruled Miami’s shadows. I took the pen.
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"I have one condition," I said, signing my fake name on the dotted line. "Rosie stays completely clean of this. She never finds out what we are."
Jericho looked down at the signature, then at me. "Agreed."
