Chapter 3 - THE TORN PHOTOGRAPH
The alley behind Carver’s Chophouse was damp and smelled of old grease, but the black SUV waiting by the dumpsters was spotless.
Mara sat in the backseat, her heavy wool coat pulled tight across her chest. Julian sat beside her, his attention fixated on the cracked silver pocket watch in his palm.
"If your brother died five years ago," Mara said, keeping her voice level, "how did the man at Table Nine get his watch?"
"That is exactly the question," Julian murmured, not looking up. "My brother, Elias, managed our family's shipping contracts. When he died, the police ruled it an accident. I never believed them, but I had no proof. The watch was supposed to be in his ashes."
Mara read his shoulders. The rigid line of his jaw. He was a man who controlled empires, but right now, he was a man haunted by a ghost. "Someone is sending you a message. They want you to know they killed him."
"Or they want me distracted." Julian finally looked at her. "Give my driver your address. We need to pack a bag for you. You're staying at my secure property until I handle this."
"I have a sister," Mara said instantly. "Elena. She lives across town."
"I already have a car sitting outside her apartment," Julian replied smoothly. "She's safe."
Mara swallowed hard. She hated how easily he commanded her life, yet she couldn't deny the terrifying logic of it.
Ten minutes later, they stood inside her modest, third-floor apartment. The deadbolt she relied on felt childishly thin now. Mara moved quickly, throwing jeans and sweaters into a duffel bag.
Julian stood by her small kitchen table, his eyes scanning her life. He didn't pry, but he noticed everything. The stack of medical bills for her mother. The LSAT prep books being used as coasters.
"You're paying off someone else's debt," Julian noted, tapping the top envelope.
"My mother's," Mara said defensively, zipping her bag. "It's handled."
"Nothing is handled if you're working a double shift to make the minimum payment." Julian turned toward her small bookshelf. He reached out and picked up a framed photograph.
It was an old picture of Mara at ten years old, sitting on the shoulders of her father. Her father had disappeared shortly after her twelfth birthday, leaving them with nothing but questions.
Julian's expression froze. He stared at the man in the photo.
"Where did you get this?" Julian demanded, his voice sharp enough to cut glass.
"That's my father," Mara said, stepping forward, her heart spiking. "Why?"
Julian pulled the photograph out of the frame. He flipped it over. Written on the back, in fresh, dark ink that hadn't been there yesterday, were three words.
May you like
An eye for an eye.
"Because," Julian said, his voice going dangerously quiet. "Your father was the man driving the car when my brother burned to death."
