Chapter 4 - THE GHOST OF THE WEST SIDE
The safehouse was a dilapidated auto repair shop on the extreme edge of the West Side, a neighborhood that the police avoided and the rival gangs ignored. Nora pulled the sputtering Honda into the garage, hitting a button on the visor to slam the heavy steel door shut behind them.
The garage was filled with half-stripped cars and the heavy scent of motor oil. Nora walked over to a workbench, flipping a breaker switch. A row of dim overhead lights flickered to life, revealing an impressive arsenal of weaponry laid out on a tarp, alongside stacks of cash and surveillance monitors.
Victor walked slowly through the space, his eyes taking in the monitors showing live feeds of the Pierce family’s known hangouts. "You've been busy, Nora."
"I don't sleep much," she replied, tossing her wet apron onto a chair and pulling a tactical vest from a duffel bag.
Victor set the empty Glock on the workbench. He turned to face her, the adrenaline of the escape settling into a tense, palpable silence. The rain hammered against the tin roof, isolating them from the rest of the world.
"She almost had me," Victor said softly, the realization finally sinking in. "I’ve survived car bombs, poison, and a dozen rival families. And I was going to be taken out by a woman who complained that her caviar wasn't chilled enough."
Nora stopped loading a magazine and looked at him. Despite the blood on his suit and the rain soaking his hair, he was undeniably striking. A ruthless king who had just found out his queen was a viper.
"Power makes people blind," Nora said quietly. "You looked at her and saw a merger. She looked at you and saw a stepping stone."
Victor stepped closer. The space between them seemed to evaporate. "And what do you see when you look at me, Nora?"
Nora’s breath hitched. She could smell the rain on his skin, beneath the expensive cologne. "I see a weapon. A means to an end."
Victor’s hand shot out, gently but firmly gripping her chin, tilting her face up to meet his dark, burning gaze. "Liar."
Nora’s heart raced. She had spent years turning herself into a machine, cold and focused on revenge. But standing this close to Victor Romano, she felt an undeniable spark of fire. He didn't look at her like she was a waitress. He looked at her like she was an equal.
Suddenly, a loud beep echoed from the computer terminal. Nora pulled away from Victor’s grasp, her cheeks flushed, and hurried to the screen.
"What is it?" Victor asked, his professional demeanor instantly returning.
"Motion sensors at the perimeter," Nora said, her fingers flying across the keyboard to bring up the external cameras. "We've been made."
On the screen, two heavily armored tactical vans pulled up to the front of the garage. Dozens of men in black poured out, heavily armed.
"How?" Victor growled. "You said this place was off the grid."
Nora’s eyes widened as she checked the tracking logs. "They didn't track the garage. They tracked you." She spun around, staring at Victor's wrist. "Your watch."
Victor looked down at the platinum Patek Philippe. "Madeline gave me this for our engagement."
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Without a word, Victor ripped the multi-million dollar watch from his wrist and threw it onto the concrete floor, crushing it beneath the heel of his Oxford shoe.
"Time to go to work," Victor said, grabbing an assault rifle from Nora’s workbench. "Show me how the Ghost's daughter fights."
