Chapter 2
The rain began to fall in heavy, relentless sheets as Dante’s armored black SUV pulled away from the Halcyon Crown.
Streetlights blurred against the wet glass like smeared yellow paint across the Manhattan night.
Beatrice sat in the leather back seat, her gold gown draped around her like armor that offered no real protection.
Dante was on his phone, issuing brief, razor-sharp commands in rapid Italian to someone on the other end.
“My team has Maggie,” Dante said, ending the call and turning his dark eyes toward her.
“She’s in a secure location in Midtown. She’s safe, Beatrice.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over her delicate frame.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked quietly. “You don't know me.”
“You found a four-point-eight million dollar hole in my accounts that my own auditors missed,” Dante said.
“That makes you either brilliant or dangerous. In my world, I keep both close.”
“I’m just an accountant,” Beatrice replied, looking out at the passing neon signs of Times Square.
“An accountant who didn't back down when Charles Wilkes tried to intimidate her,” Dante corrected.
The vehicle slowed down as it navigated the cobblestone streets of the Meatpacking District.
Converted warehouses loomed overhead, their rusted iron canopies dripping with dirty rainwater.
The address in the text led to an old industrial building near the Hudson River, completely dark except for a single light on the second floor.
Dante’s driver, a broad-shouldered man named Marco, killed the headlights and parked in the shadows.
“We go in through the loading dock,” Marco reported, checking a small black sidearm before holstering it.
“No,” Dante said calmly. “Beatrice walks through the front door. We follow from the blind spots.”
Beatrice felt her heart jump into her throat. “You want me to go in there by myself?”
“They expect you to be terrified and alone,” Dante explained, his gaze holding hers with hypnotic intensity.
“You walk in like you hold all the cards, because behind you, you have my entire organization.”
He reached out and gently pulled a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers brushing her burning cheek.
“Can you do this, Beatrice?”
She swallowed hard, remembering the way Charles had mocked her in front of her peers.
She remembered the threat against her sister.
“I can do it,” she said, her voice stronger than she felt inside.
Dante handed her a tiny, flesh-colored earpiece, which she quickly slipped into her right ear.
“I’ll be listening to every breath you take,” Dante whispered, his tone terrifyingly soft.
She opened the car door and stepped out into the pouring rain, the gold satin soaking through instantly.
The cold air hit her like a slap, but she forced her chin up as she approached the heavy metal door.
It was unlocked.
She pushed it open, the heavy steel creaking loudly in the empty, cavernous entrance.
Dim yellow bulbs flickered overhead, casting long, distorted shadows down a damp corridor.
“Keep walking,” Dante’s voice came through the earpiece, smooth and completely calm.
Beatrice followed the hallway until she reached a wide industrial elevator with an iron accordion gate.
The indicator arrow was stuck on the second floor.
She reached for the gate, but before she could touch it, a shadow stepped out from the darkness behind her.
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“You came earlier than expected, Miss Gallagher,” a familiar, sleek voice echoed through the space.
Beatrice turned around slowly to face Victoria Lane.
