Chapter 4 - The Ledger of BloodFor three days, Nora remained inside the East Wing of the Vance Estate.
She refused the expensive silk dresses the staff brought her, choosing instead a simple gray cashmere sweater and dark trousers. She spent her hours staring out the tall bay windows at the grey Atlantic Ocean crashing against the cliffs below.
She wasn't a prisoner—the doors were unlocked, and she was allowed to walk the grand corridors—but she felt entirely trapped by the violent, invisible war waging outside the estate walls.
On the fourth night, unable to sleep, Nora crept down the dark hallway toward the estate’s West Wing.
She saw a warm sliver of light spilling from beneath a pair of heavy mahogany double doors. As she approached, she heard voices raised in intense, low argument.
“...Marcone has locked down the shipping terminals in Newark,” a voice—Franco, Julian’s chief lieutenant—was saying. “If we don't hit their supply lines tonight, the council will vote to recognize Marcone’s claim over the South End.”
“I don't care about the South End shipping lines, Franco,” Julian’s voice replied, hard and unyielding as stone. “I care about finishing Marcone.”
“Boss, you’re risking the entire family structure for a girl from a diner!” Franco argued, his frustration boiling over. “She’s a nobody! Give Marcone a financial settlement, hand over the old clinic records, and end this before the commission gets involved!”
Nora stopped in her tracks, her hand resting against the cold wood of the doorframe. Her heart raced.
Inside the study, the sound of a heavy glass hitting a desk shattered the silence.
“If you ever refer to her as a ‘nobody’ in my presence again, Franco,” Julian’s voice dropped into a register so dark and lethal that even Nora felt a chill run down her spine, “I will throw you off the cliff myself.”
A tense, suffocating silence fell over the room.
“She saved my life when my own brothers left me to bleed in an alley,” Julian continued, his tone absolute. “She took a bullet’s worth of heat for me and never asked for a dime. She is worth more than every dock, every ship, and every dollar this family owns. Marcone dies tonight. Prepare the men.”
Nora pushed the door open.
The heavy mahogany doors swung wide, revealing the vast, leather-bound study. Julian stood behind a massive desk, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms, a glass of dark scotch in his hand. Franco stood across from him, looking pale and tense.
Both men turned to look at her.
Julian’s aggressive posture melted immediately. He set his glass down, his dark eyes locking onto hers with a mixture of concern and softness.
“Nora,” Julian said softly. “You should be resting.”
Nora walked into the room, stepping past Franco without looking at him. She stopped directly across from Julian’s desk.
“You’re going to kill them, aren't you?” she asked, her voice steady.
Julian didn't lie to her. “Marcone made this a war the moment he put a target on your back. In my world, Nora, mercy is just a delay of execution.”
Nora looked at his calloused hands, remembering how gentle they had been when taking off her wet shoes three nights ago. She realized then that this man was a monster to the world, but to her, he was a wall of steel standing between her and destruction.
“Don't get killed,” Nora whispered, her eyes searching his sharp features.
May you like
Julian’s lips curved into a quiet, breathtaking smile. He stepped around the desk, stopping right in front of her. He reached out, his thumb lightly tracing the line of her jaw.
“I survived a bullet through the shoulder five years ago because a stubborn nurse stitched me up,” Julian murmured, his dark eyes blazing with an intense, quiet devotion. “I’m not dying tonight, Nora. I have a debt to pay.”
