Chapter 2 - The Astoria Bakery Girl in the Dragon’s DenThirty minutes later, Mara found herself seated at a long, polished walnut table in a private breakfast room that overlooked the frozen Atlantic waves crashing against the cliffs of Long Island.
A plate of warm, freshly baked brioche sat in front of her, alongside a silver pot of dark, rich coffee. But she couldn't touch it. Her hands were trembling too violently.
Dante sat at the head of the table, fully dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, reading a digital tablet while Julian stood quietly beside his right shoulder.
“She didn't know,” Mara said for the fifth time, her voice cracking. “Tessa didn't tell me anything about money, or debts, or... whatever it is you people do. She just told me I worked too much and needed to put on a dress and drink free champagne.”
Dante didn't look up from his tablet. “Miss Lane has a history of bad investments, high-stakes poker debts in Flushing, and a habit of borrowing from loan sharks associated with the Maroni family. Last night, she used the Marlowe Foundation Gala as a cover to sneak a Maroni courier into the estate to copy our shipping logistics data.”
Mara stared at him, horrified. “Tessa would never do that. She’s terrified of parking enforcement, let alone mobsters!”
“Desperation makes criminals out of accountants, Mara,” Julian interjected gently, sliding a printed file across the table. “Here are the bank transfers. Two hundred thousand dollars wire-transferred from an offshore account tied to a shell company owned by Jimmy Maroni. Your friend’s signature is right there on the digital receipt.”
Mara picked up the paper, her eyes scanning the lines of text. The numbers swam before her eyes. Two hundred thousand. It was an impossible sum—an astronomical universe away from the reality of flour sacks, butter prices, and electricity bills in Astoria.
“What are you going to do to her?” Mara asked, her voice dropping to a terrified whisper.
Dante finally set the tablet down. He folded his hands on the table, leaning forward. His gray eyes locked onto hers with an unsettling, hypnotic intensity.
“In normal circumstances, anyone who facilitates a data breach inside my home is disposed of, or at the very least, handed over to federal authorities with enough fabricated evidence to ensure they never see daylight again,” Dante said calmly.
Mara flinched as if she had been struck. “She’s my best friend.”
“I know,” Dante replied. “Which is why she is currently sitting in a heated, furnished guest suite instead of a concrete cell in the basement.”
Mara blinked, stunned. “What?”
“Dante has a soft spot for loyal people,” Julian remarked, earning a sharp, warning glare from his boss that Julian completely ignored with a faint, knowing smile.
“She is alive because you stumbled into my bedroom, smelled like vanilla, and slept like a stone against my side for six hours without trying to plunge a stiletto into my collarbone,” Dante said, his voice dropping into a register that made a shiver run down Mara’s spine. “You changed the energy of this house, Miss Bell. And my men noticed.”
“Your men think I’m insane!” Mara protested. “They were bowing to me this morning!”
“They respect what they don't understand,” Dante countered, standing up from the table. He walked around it, stopping just behind her chair. He didn't touch her, but she could feel the radiating heat of his body, smelling that subtle blend of cedar and expensive bourbon. “Here is your choice, Mara. You can take your shoes, walk out the front gates, and pretend you never saw me, never heard my name, and never crossed paths with the Marlowe syndicate. Your friend stays, and her debt becomes permanent.”
Mara swallowed hard, her heart pounding against her ribs. “And the alternative?”
Dante leaned down slightly, his lips brushing near the shell of her ear.
“You stay. You play the role of my guest—my equal—for the next month while I clean out the rats leaking my logistics to Maroni. You help me trace the financial leaks through your intuitive understanding of small-business accounting. And in exchange, Miss Lane’s debt is wiped clean, her record is cleared, and she leaves for California tomorrow morning with a fresh start.”
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Mara closed her eyes. It was insane. It was a deal with the literal devil of New York City.
And yet, looking at Dante Marlowe, she knew she didn't have a choice at all.
