Chapter 5 - THE WAKE OF THE LEVIATHAN
A Sovereign’s First WordsDante Moretti did not wake up with a gasp or a dramatic flail. He simply opened his eyes.
One moment they were shut, his face a mask of gray exhaustion; the next, two pools of liquid obsidian were staring directly at Faye. He didn't look confused by his surroundings. His gaze flicked from Faye to Salvatore, then to the IV line in his arm.
With a low, gravelly grunt, he reached up and tore the needle from his vein.
"Sir, you shouldn't—" the doctor started, stepping forward.
Dante raised a single, scarred finger. The doctor froze instantly, stepping back into the shadows. The authority this man projected was physical, an invisible weight that filled the damp room.
"Salvatore," Dante said, his voice sounding like two stones grinding together at the bottom of a well. "Report."
"The Gulfstream was sabotaged from within the Portland hangar, sir," Salvatore said, bowing his head slightly. "A modified altitude sensor triggered the engine blowout over the coast. The Morozov team was waiting on the ground. They hit the Callahan property three hours ago."
Dante slowly shifted his weight, sitting up on the edge of the gurney. He was wearing a clean gray undershirt, his broad shoulders covered in dark, intricate tattoos of old-world Italian iconography—saints and daggers intertwined with vines. He looked at Faye, his eyes tracking the cuts on her face, the raw skin on her hands, and the Winchester shotgun leaning against her chair.
"You're the girl from the boat," Dante said.
"I’m the woman whose house you just got burned down," Faye corrected him, stepping closer until she was within arm's reach of the gurney. "I saved your life, and in return, I lost everything I have. I don't care who you are, Mr. Moretti. You owe me."
Salvatore moved slightly, his hand drifting toward his holster at her tone, but Dante waved him off.
A faint, grim smile touched the corner of Dante’s mouth. "You have a ferocious tongue for someone who works for tips, Miss Callahan."
"I don't work for tips anymore," she said. "I don't have a job to go back to. I don't have a roof over my head. Your war just made me a ghost."
Dante stood up. He was tall, well over six feet, and even wounded, he moved with a terrifying grace. He walked to the window that looked out over the black water of the bay. He stood there for a long time, his hands clasped behind his back, watching the rain strike the glass.
"My family has operated on this coast for eighty years," Dante said softly, his back still to her. "We survived prohibition, the feds, the cartel wars of the nineties. We did it because we have a rule: we never take what we cannot pay for, and we never forgive what we cannot punish."
He turned around, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made the air feel thin.
"Anatoly Morozov believes he can change the rules of engagement on my turf," Dante continued. "He thinks because I was in that water, I am weak. He thinks because you are a civilian, you are expendable."
He walked over to a heavy metal case sitting on one of the worktables. He flipped the latches and opened it. Inside were rows of black tactical gear, automatic rifles, and stacks of passport documents. He reached in and pulled out a heavy, matte-black semi-automatic pistol.
He didn't aim it at her. He held it out on his open palms, like an offering.
"I can give you that check Salvatore offered," Dante said. "You can take it, buy a house in Florida, and spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder wondering when the Russians will find you. Or... you can stay here, and help me kill the man who burned your house down."
Faye looked at the gun. She looked at her raw, bleeding hands. She thought of the cedar house, the photos of her mother, the quiet life she had fought so hard to protect.
May you like
She reached out and took the weapon. It was heavy, cold, and perfectly balanced.
"Tell me what to shoot," she said.
