Chapter 4 - THE TICKING CLOCK
Dante snatched the burner phone from the hidden compartment, his eyes scanning the glowing text message again. Time is up, Elena.
A cold, methodical calm washed over him—the same calm that had kept him alive when he took over his father’s syndicate at twenty-two. Elena hadn't run away because she fell out of love. She had run to draw a target away from her family.
But who was hunting her?
“What ledger?” Maya asked, standing up slowly, her eyes darting to the heavy brass key still resting in the velvet pouch. “Mr. Russo, who would want to hurt a five-year-old?”
“In my world? The list is long,” Dante said darkly. He pocketed the burner phone and picked up the key. It was old, the teeth worn, with a faded number engraved on the bow: 402.
Before Dante could theorize further, the private elevator chimed. Dante’s hand instantly went to the concealed holster at his hip.
The heavy steel doors slid open, revealing an older man leaning heavily on a custom silver-tipped mahogany cane. He wore a tailored tweed three-piece suit, his silver hair immaculately slicked back. It was Silas. Dante’s oldest mentor, the man who had guided him after his father’s assassination, and the underboss of the Russo syndicate.
“Dante, my boy,” Silas rasped, stepping into the penthouse with the familiarity of a family member. He glanced around the room, his sharp, pale blue eyes landing on Maya. “Leo told me you brought a stranger home. I came as quickly as I could. In times of crisis, we must be careful who we let into the fortress.”
Dante forced his hand away from his weapon, masking his tension. “Silas. It’s late. Maya is just a waitress who managed to get Sophia to speak tonight. She’s helping.”
Silas smiled, a thin, reptilian stretching of his lips. He stepped further into the room. “Is that so? How wonderful.” He looked down at Sophia, who was standing frozen near the toy box. Silas reached into his pocket and pulled out a beautiful, expensive porcelain doll. “Hello, little bird. Uncle Silas brought you a gift.”
The reaction was instantaneous. Sophia didn’t just cry; she recoiled in absolute terror. She scrambled backward, hitting the sofa, and then bolted behind Maya’s legs, clutching the fabric of Maya’s cheap cardigan as if her life depended on it. She squeezed her eyes shut and began to hyperventilate.
Silas paused, his expression perfectly composed in a mask of polite concern. “My apologies. The child is clearly still traumatized by her mother’s selfish departure.”
Maya felt Sophia shaking violently against her legs. She dropped to a crouch, shielding the girl. As she did, she noticed a crumpled piece of paper peeking out from under the sofa—one of the many drawings Sophia had done in the days before she stopped speaking. Maya gently pulled it out.
It was a crayon drawing in frantic black and red scribbles. It depicted a large woman with dark hair holding hands with a little girl. Towering over them was a dark, jagged figure. The figure had no face, but in its hand, drawn with heavy, aggressive strokes, was a thick brown stick with a bright silver top.
A cane.
Maya’s breath caught in her throat. She looked from the drawing to Silas, who was leaning lightly on his silver-tipped cane, watching her with a terrifyingly calm intensity.
“You have a familiar face, my dear,” Silas said quietly, his pale eyes locking onto Maya’s. “Have we met?”
Maya’s mind flashed back to a threatening voicemail Eliana had played for her years ago when she briefly reappeared to borrow money. You take what is mine, I take what is yours. The voice was older, raspy, sophisticated.
It was the same voice.
Maya stood up slowly, crumbling the drawing in her fist to hide it. She forced a polite, bewildered smile. “No, sir. I’ve lived in Brooklyn my whole life. I serve pasta.”
Silas chuckled, a dry, hollow sound. “Of course. Dante, I need a word with you in your study. Business won't wait, even for grief.”
Dante nodded, casting a brief, warning glance at Maya. “Stay here with her.”
As the two men walked down the hall, Maya quickly uncrumpled the drawing and shoved it into her pocket. She scooped up Sophia and moved quietly toward the hallway, pressing her back against the wall near the study door, straining to listen.
Inside, she heard the clink of glasses.
“The commission is getting restless, Dante,” Silas’s raspy voice drifted through the crack in the door. “Elena running off is a sign of weakness. You need to sign the Brooklyn port deeds over to my division tomorrow. It will show the families we are unified and strong.”
Maya’s eyes widened. She pulled out the burner phone she had snuck out of Dante’s pocket when he brushed past her. She looked at the text again. Bring the ledger to the docks...
Silas was trying to take control of the ports. If Dante signed them over, he was playing right into the trap.
Suddenly, Sophia tugged on Maya’s shirt. The little girl pointed a trembling finger directly at the crack in the study door.
May you like
“Bad man,” Sophia whispered, her voice raw and terrified. “Mommy said... bad man.”
The study door suddenly swung inward. Silas stood there, staring down at them, his silver cane resting heavily on the floor. He smiled, and it was the most terrifying thing Maya had ever seen.
