Chapter 2 - The Shadow in the Docks
By my second year in New York, I had learned that secrets in Hell’s Kitchen had a shelf life, and mine was expiring fast.
The following afternoon, I stood in the humid, salt-scented air of Pier 42, supervising the unloading of a container ship for my secondary daytime job at a logistics warehouse. My father, Liam Gallagher, had spent thirty years working these very docks before a "tragic accident" crushed him beneath a stack of shipping crates two years ago—an accident the police closed in forty-eight hours, but which I never believed for a second.
"Hey, Cassidy! Sign for this manifest!" shouted Marco, the shift supervisor, waving a clipboard at me.
I walked over, wiped the sweat from my forehead, and signed my name. As I handed the clipboard back, a sleek, black sedan pulled up uninvited past the security barrier. The tinted window rolled down, revealing the sharp, clean-shaven profile of Vincent Kelletti.
He didn't get out of the car. He just gestured with two fingers for me to approach.
I hesitated, then wiped my hands on my jeans and walked over to the passenger window. "Mr. Kelletti. If you're looking for a table at the Brass Lantern, we don't open until six."
"I'm not here for drinks, Ms. Gallagher," Vincent said, his voice smooth and devoid of the lounge's ambient noise. "Get in."
"I'm on the clock."
"Your supervisor just told me you can take an extended break." He glanced at Marco, who was currently staring at the pavement a hundred feet away, whistling innocently.
I opened the car door and slid into the leather passenger seat, closing it firmly. "What do you want?"
Vincent turned sideways to look at me, resting one hand on the steering wheel. Up close, in the harsh afternoon sunlight, I could see the faint scar curving along his jawline—the kind of mark you only get from something sharper than a fist.
"Last night, one of my best enforcers tried to grab you," Vincent said quietly. "You didn't panic. You didn't flinch. You used an aikido redirection followed by an off-balance pivot. That’s not waitress training. That’s professional ring footwork."
"People make assumptions about waitresses," I replied evenly. "People also make mistakes when they underestimate what women have to learn to walk home alone in this city."
"True," Vincent murmured, his gray eyes narrowing slightly. "Except I ran your background this morning."
My stomach dropped, though I forced my face to remain a mask of stone. "Is that legal?"
"In my world, legality is flexible," he replied smoothly. "I found your address. I found your bank statements. And more importantly, I found your father."
The air left my lungs. For a second, the bustling sounds of the shipyard faded into a roaring hum. "Leave my father out of this."
"Liam Gallagher," Vincent continued, ignoring my warning. "Golden Gloves champion in the Tri-State area back in the nineties. Before he took a job working warehouse security for Kelletti Maritime Holdings. And before he had a fatal accident on Pier 14 right around the time he started asking questions about missing cargo manifests."
I turned to face him fully, my hands curling into tight fists against my thighs. "The police said it was an accident."
"The police say whatever my father pays them to say," Vincent said, his voice dropping an octave, carrying a sudden, dangerous edge of sincerity. "My father ran this company before me. He was a ruthless bastard who buried a lot of secrets in these shipping records. Two years ago, your father found something he shouldn't have. He tried to blackmail the wrong people, and he paid for it."
I stared at him, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Why are you telling me this? Are you threatening me?"
"I'm offering you a deal," Vincent said, pulling a plain manila envelope from the center console and placing it on my lap. "My father's old digital ledger is hidden inside a secure terminal in my private office. You want to know what really happened to Liam Gallagher? So do I. My father's stroke left him unable to speak before he could clean up the mess he made. I want to know what my family's name is tied to."
I looked down at the envelope, then back up at his unblinking eyes. "What do you want in return?"
"Someone tried to poison me at my own club three nights ago," Vincent said flatly. "Someone inside my inner circle. I need a bodyguard who can blend into the background, move without drawing attention, and take down anyone who tries to reach for a weapon. I need a fighter."
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"You want me to be your shadow?"
"I want you to be my waitress," Vincent said with a faint, grim smile. "And when things get violent—as they inevitably will—I want you to remind everyone why you shouldn't mess with a Gallagher."
