Chapter 4 - A BLOOD-STAINED CONTRACT
The transition from waitress to mob asset was violently abrupt. Damien didn't give her a choice. He walked her out of the restaurant through the front door, surrounded by a phalanx of guards. Mr. Castellano didn't say a word, just watched them go with wide, terrified eyes.
Eleanor was thrust into the back of a black Maybach, Damien sliding in beside her. The plush leather interior felt like a velvet cage. "Where are we going?" she demanded, finally finding her voice.
"To a safe house," Damien replied, tapping away on a secure tablet. "Volkov’s men will tear your apartment apart by midnight. You will stay with me. You will act as my translator, my ear to the ground, and my bait."
"Bait?" Eleanor snapped. "I am not dying for your war."
"You will die if you don't fight in it," he countered effortlessly. "Your father stole fifty million dollars' worth of extortion data. He is a ghost, but you are flesh and blood. You help me find the ledger, and I erase your father's debt. I give you a new identity, money, a life where you never have to look over your shoulder again."
"And if I refuse?"
Damien turned his head, the city lights washing over his sharp features. "I open the door, push you out onto the street, and wish you luck against Volkov's skinners."
It was a trap, beautifully wrapped in coercion. Eleanor looked out the window at the blurred lights of Manhattan. She had spent her whole life running, hiding in corners, polishing glasses to pay off interest on a debt she didn't accrue. Damien was a monster, but he was a monster offering her a sword.
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"Fine," she said, her voice hard. "But I have conditions. I don't touch weapons, I don't kill anyone, and when this is over, you never look for me again."
Damien smiled, a slow, dangerous curve of his lips. "Agreed. Welcome to the syndicate, Miss Hale."
