Chapter 8 - Dawn Over the HarborThe first rays of golden sunlight pierced the heavy morning fog, turning the waters of New York Harbor into a sheet of shimmering amber.
The ambulance had already come and gone, taking Rossi and his surviving thugs to a black-site medical facility where they would never see a courtroom. Thomas Smith sat in the back of an unmarked paramedic van, a warm blanket around his shoulders, sipping hot black coffee while a medic stitched a minor cut above his eyebrow.
Norma stood leaning against the fender of Joseph’s Maybach, looking out over the water. Her clothes were stained with soot and old blood, but her posture was upright, unbreakable.
Joseph walked over, holding a steaming paper cup of coffee. He held it out to her. She took it, their fingers brushing for a fraction of a second.
"Your father's boat is already being repaired," Joseph said quietly. "Brand-new nylon nets. State-of-the-art navigation gear. And a security detail that will ensure no one ever touches his slips again."
Norma blew across the surface of the coffee, watching the steam rise into the cool morning air. "And what about you, Joseph? What happens now that the war is over?"
Joseph looked out at the horizon, where cargo ships moved slowly toward the open Atlantic, their horns sounding like deep, mournful sighs.
"The war is never really over, Norma," he said softly. "In my world, there's always another tide coming in. Always another storm."
He turned his gaze back to her, the hard edges of the Ice King softening into something remarkably tender.
"Which is why I need someone on my crew who isn't afraid of the water."
Norma looked down at the silver earring still glinting softly against her lobe, then back up at the most dangerous man in the city. A slow, knowing smile spread across her face.
"What's the starting salary for a dockside rescue worker?" she asked.
May you like
Joseph chuckled—a deep, genuine sound that chased away the last shadows of the night.
"More than enough to buy your own pier."
