Chapter 3 - Shadows in the Ledger
The guest suite was larger than Norah’s entire apartment building.
It featured a king-sized bed with silk sheets, a bathroom made of solid marble, and a walk-in closet stocked with designer clothes that still had store tags on them. But Norah couldn't sleep. She sat on the edge of the plush mattress, watching Chloe sleep soundly in the center of the bed. The little girl had refused to sleep in her own room, crying silently until Norah climbed in beside her. Now, Chloe’s small head rested comfortably on Norah’s shoulder.
At 3:00 AM, a soft knock echoed at the suite door.
Norah slipped out of bed, careful not to wake the child, and crept to the door. She cracked it open.
Dante stood in the hallway. He had removed his suit jacket; his white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a sliver of scarred, corded muscle. He looked exhausted, the shadows under his pale eyes making him look more human, yet infinitely more dangerous.
“She’s asleep?” he asked quietly.
“Like a rock,” Norah whispered back, keeping the door partially blocked with her body. “What do you want, Mr. Vance?”
“To talk. Bring your tea.” He nodded toward a silver tray on a nearby table, laden with steaming Earl Grey and biscuits.
Reluctantly, Norah let him in, and they sat across from each other at a small glass table near the window overlooking the glowing, rain-soaked city.
“Who wants her dead?” Norah asked bluntly, wrapping her hands around the warm ceramic mug.
Dante stared into his own cup, swirling the dark amber liquid. “A man named Viktor Petrov. Head of the Russian Bratva in Brooklyn. We’ve been locked in a cold war over the shipping docks for six months. Tonight, he crossed a line. He tried to take my blood.”
“And you?” Norah raised an eyebrow. “How many lives have you taken over those docks?”
Dante didn't flinch away from her judgment. Instead, his pale eyes met hers with chilling clarity. “Every single one of them earned their grave. But Chloe? She’s innocent. Her mother was innocent too.” He paused, his jaw tightening. “Which brings me to why I brought you here, Norah Hale.”
Norah froze. “My name. You checked me out already.”
“Within ten minutes of our car ride,” Dante admitted smoothly. “Orphaned at nineteen. Mother died of respiratory failure after losing their family bakery to predatory loans. You’ve bounced from minimum-wage job to minimum-wage job for five years. No criminal record. No ties to any syndicates. You’re a ghost in the system—just like I used to be.”
“So why keep me here? If I’m a nobody, pay me off and let me go back to Bellamy Wash.”
“Because,” Dante leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, lowering his voice until it was barely a breath, “Viktor’s men didn't just stumble upon that laundry by accident. My security protocols were breached from the inside. Someone on my payroll gave them our exact route tonight.”
May you like
Norah’s breath hitched. “You think someone in this penthouse sold you out?”
“I know they did,” Dante said, his voice dropping to a lethal purr. “And out of all the armed guards, loyal lieutenants, and high-paid fixers I employ... my daughter chose a random laundry girl to call Mama. That means you see things others miss. Or... you’re the best damn actress the Bratva has ever planted in my path.”
