Chapter 3 - THE WAKE-UP CALL
By the time Nora finished her shift, the adrenaline had worn off, leaving behind a bone-deep exhaustion. She clocked out at 1:15 a.m., the digital punch-card machine stamping her card with a loud, mechanical clack.
As she walked out the heavy glass back doors into the wet Boston night, the rain had stopped, leaving the asphalt slick and reflecting the neon signs of the city. She pulled her thrift-store trench coat tighter around her shoulders and began the three-block walk to the subway station.
She didn't notice the sleek, matte-black sedan idling by the curb three spots down from the restaurant's delivery entrance. The tinted windows rolled down with a soft, electronic hum as she passed.
"Nora Callahan."
The voice was low, gravelly, and instantly recognizable. It wasn't Adrian Castellano—it belonged to someone else. Someone older, with a voice that sounded like it had survived decades of smoke and cheap whiskey.
Nora froze, her hand tightening around the strap of her canvas bag. She turned slowly. Inside the back of the luxury vehicle sat an elderly man with impeccably silver hair, wearing a tailored charcoal overcoat. Next to him sat a younger man with broad shoulders and a scar running from his ear down to his collar—one of Adrian’s shadows.
"I don't know you," Nora said, her voice holding firm despite the cold knot forming in her stomach.
"No, you don't," the silver-haired man replied, his tone polite, almost conversational, which somehow made it infinitely more terrifying. "My name is Vincent Moretti. I am an old friend—or, depending on who you ask, an old enemy—of the Castellano family. Get in the car, Miss Callahan. It's too wet to stand on the pavement."
"I'm not getting into a car with strangers," Nora said, taking a step backward toward the subway entrance.
The man with the scar didn't make a threatening move, but his presence was a wall. He didn't have to block her path physically; the sheer weight of his gaze did it for her.
"Adrian Castellano is a dangerous man," Vincent said softly, leaning his head against the plush leather headrest. "He lives in a fortress of silence. People who enter his orbit tend to get caught in the crossfire. His father was blown to pieces in a car bomb fifteen years ago, Miss Callahan. Every person who gets too close to him becomes a target for men like me who want to finish what was started."
Nora’s breath hitched. A car bomb. That was how Adrian had lost his hearing. The pieces clicked together in her mind with brutal clarity.
"I'm a waitress," Nora said, her voice dropping an octave. "I serve duck and pour water. I am not part of your war."
"You used sign language in the Vault tonight," Vincent noted, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Adrian hasn't let a civilian speak to him in their own language in a decade. You aren't just a waitress anymore, Nora. You've caught the attention of a ghost. And in our world, attention is a fatal flaw."
Vincent reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a heavy gold-embossed card, and tossed it onto the empty leather seat beside him, right next to the open door.
May you like
"If Adrian asks you to do something outside your station—if he asks you to take a side—bring that card to this number," Vincent said smoothly. "Otherwise, you might find that your little brother’s tuition, or your mother’s medical bills, suddenly become very difficult to pay."
The window rolled up before Nora could reply. The black sedan glided away into the dark Boston night, leaving her standing alone in the damp chill. The threat hung in the air like poison. They weren't just coming for Adrian; they were already looking for the chinks in her armor. And they had found them.
