Chapter 4 - WHISPERS IN THE SHADOWS
By midday the following afternoon, Emma felt like a ghost haunting a palace. The guest suite she had been given was larger than any apartment she had ever rented, complete with floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over Biscayne Bay. Fresh designer clothes had been delivered to her closet, all tailored impeccably to her measurements.
She refused to wear the expensive dresses, choosing instead a simple gray sweater and dark slacks. She couldn't afford to get comfortable. Gold cages were still cages.
Stepping out onto the marble mezzanine, Emma heard raised voices echoing from the private study downstairs. She moved quietly along the balustrade, her footsteps muffled by the thick Persian runners.
"She’s an unknown variable, Dominic!" an older, raspy voice snapped. Emma peered through the carved mahogany railing to see a heavyset man with silver hair and a crimson pocket square pacing in front of Dominic’s desk. "A banquet waitress? You dragged a civilian into our compound during a turf war with Moretti! It’s reckless!"
"She spotted the rifle when none of our perimeter scouts did, Luca," Dominic replied, his voice terrifyingly calm. He was leaning back in his leather chair, swirling two fingers of scotch. "If she hadn't intervened, you would be organizing my funeral today. Which leads me to wonder... why was our south flank completely blind?"
Luca stiffened, his jaw tightening. "Our jamming equipment suffered an unexpected frequency glitch. We are looking into the vendor."
"Do that," Dominic said, setting his glass down with a soft, ominous click. "Because if I find out that glitch had a price tag, whoever took the money will die screaming."
Luca offered a curt nod and stormed out of the office, slamming the double doors behind him.
Emma took a step back, her breath catching, but the floorboard under the runner gave a microscopic creak.
"You can come in, Emma," Dominic called out without looking up from his paperwork.
Swallowing her anxiety, Emma walked down the spiral staircase and entered the office. The walls were lined with rare first-edition books, surveillance monitors, and antique blade collections.
"You shouldn't eavesdrop on men who kill for a living," Dominic said, though there was no malice in his voice. He motioned toward the leather armchair opposite his desk. "Sit."
Emma remained standing. "That man. Luca. He was nervous."
Dominic raised an eyebrow, leaning forward on his elbows. "He’s my late father's oldest underboss. He’s territorial, not nervous."
"He was rubbing his left thumb against his index finger repeatedly while talking about the jammer," Emma said bluntly. "My father was an interrogator for the military police before he got sick. He taught me body language. When people lie about logistics, their hands search for an anchor. He knew that flank was open, Dominic."
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Dominic stared at her, the dark depths of his eyes searching hers with fresh, assessing curiosity. The air between them suddenly crackled with a strange, high-stakes voltage. "You continue to surprise me, Emma Thompson."
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