Chapter 2 - The Reflection in the Glass
Vincent Romano didn’t drop the phone.
He didn’t yell. He didn’t throw his glass against the wall.
He just stared at the photograph.
Harper. The quiet waitress from the Onyx Room. She was tied to a heavy oak chair, her uniform torn at the shoulder, a brutal bruise forming along her jawline.
And standing behind her, a ghost of a smile on her perfectly painted lips, was Evelyn.
His fiancée.
The woman who had kissed him goodnight just four hours ago, whispering about their honeymoon in Lake Como.
Vincent zoomed in on the image.
Evelyn was holding up her left hand, making sure the three-carat diamond he had placed on her finger caught the light. It wasn’t just a taunt. It was a declaration of ownership. A promise that she held his future, his freedom, and this innocent woman’s life in the palm of her hand.
“Boss?” Leo’s voice cracked through the silence. “You still there?”
“Get a car ready,” Vincent said, his voice flat. Dead. “Just you and me.”
“Where are we going?”
“Union Station. Then we’re hunting.”
Vincent hung up. He looked at the photo one last time. He had spent his entire life surrounded by ruthless men. He knew how to spot a killer. He knew how to spot a thief.
But he had let Evelyn Sterling sleep in his bed.
He grabbed the brass key from the counter. Locker 402.
The drive to Union Station was suffocating. The morning sun was just beginning to break over Lake Michigan, painting the water a cold, metallic gray. Leo drove the armored Escalade in silence, his eyes darting to the rearview mirror.
“You want to tell me what’s happening?” Leo finally asked.
“Evelyn has the girl,” Vincent said.
Leo’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Arthur Sterling’s daughter? She’s getting her hands dirty for a waitress?”
“Harper isn’t just a waitress,” Vincent said, looking at the brass key. “She knows something. Something that scares a billionaire.”
Union Station was mostly empty at this hour. Commuters moved like ghosts under the vaulted ceilings. Vincent and Leo walked past the ticket counters, their footsteps echoing against the marble floors, until they reached the old, forgotten bank of lockers near the lower transit lines.
400.
401.
402.
Vincent slid the brass key into the lock. It turned with a heavy, satisfying click.
He opened the metal door.
Inside sat a padded manila envelope. Nothing else.
Vincent pulled it out and tore the top open. He slid the contents onto the cold metal of the locker bank.
First, a small, black burner phone.
Second, a stack of printed bank statements.
And third, an old, tarnished silver pocket watch.
Vincent picked up the watch. It was heavy. Antique. He flipped it over. Engraved on the back were three initials: A. E. S.
Arthur Edward Sterling.
Why did a waitress have a billionaire’s custom pocket watch?
Vincent picked up the bank statements. They weren't his shipping logs. They were wire transfers. Millions of dollars moving from Arthur Sterling’s offshore accounts into a shell company controlled by the Federal Bureau of Investigation’s lead task force director.
Evelyn hadn’t been feeding the Feds information to protect Vincent.
She and her father were paying the Feds to take Vincent down.
It was a hostile takeover. They were going to use the marriage to legally bind his assets to the Sterling trust, then have the Feds arrest Vincent on his wedding day. The Sterlings would take the entire Romano empire, clean and clear.
Vincent’s phone buzzed. Another text from the unknown number.
We are accelerating the timeline, Vincent. The waterfront deal signs today. Or she dies.
Leo looked over Vincent’s shoulder at the text. “Boss. It’s over. We can’t fight the Feds and the Sterlings at the same time. Let the girl go. We have to protect the family.”
Vincent stared at the tarnished silver watch. He thought of Harper’s shaking hands. He thought of the terror in her eyes, risking her own life to drop that key into his pocket. She owed him nothing, yet she had tried to save him.
“No,” Vincent said softly.
He pulled up the photograph of Harper bound to the chair again. He turned the brightness all the way up.
“Look at the background,” Vincent ordered.
Leo squinted. Behind Evelyn’s shoulder, there was a window. And in the reflection of the dark glass, a neon sign blinked in reverse.
...T U O T S ...
“Stout,” Leo whispered. “The old Stout Brewery down in the South Loop. It’s been abandoned for years.”
“It’s not abandoned,” Vincent said, his eyes turning to ice. “Arthur Sterling bought it three months ago through a proxy.”
Vincent slid the burner phone and the watch into his pocket.
“Call the men,” Vincent said.
May you like
“How many?” Leo asked.
“None,” Vincent replied, pulling his Glock from his shoulder holster and checking the chamber. “If we bring the crew, Evelyn’s mole will warn her. It’s just us. We’re going to the brewery.”
