Chapter 6 - Nora’s Courage
The private suite on the top floor of the Drake Hotel was transformed into a fortress within an hour. Gabe's loyal men stood guard at every elevator bank, armed with automatic carbines beneath long tailored coats.
Dr. Levin, the Santoro family physician, finished adjusting the oxygen valve beside Arthur's plush leather recliner. The old man was wrapped in heavy cashmere blankets, an intravenous line hydrating his frail system. Color had finally returned to his hollow cheeks, and his breathing was no longer a desperate rasp.
He's severely malnourished and has advanced congestive heart failure, Gabriel, Dr. Levin whispered, stepping away from the bed. But with proper medication, warm shelter, and rest, he will survive. Another night on the pavement in this cold, however, and he would have died by morning.
Gabe nodded, his eyes fixed on the living room table where Nora sat.
A silver tray laden with roast beef sandwiches, fresh fruit, warm pastries, and bowls of potato soup rested before her. She had not touched the meat. Instead, she had cut a soft dinner roll into four neat quarters, wrapping three of them in clean paper napkins and sliding them into her coat pocket.
Nora, Gabe called gently, sitting across from her. You don't have to save food. There will always be more.
She looked up, her dark eyes clear and solemn. In the shelter, if you don't hide the bread, someone bigger takes it while you sleep. And Grandpa needs soft food for his gums.
Gabe felt an ache in his chest that no rival's bullet had ever caused. In his world, greed was the universal currency. Men betrayed their lifelong brothers for a five percent cut of a gambling racket. Yet this seven-year-old girl, starved and freezing, thought only of preserving crumbs for an invalid.
Eat the soup, Nora, Gabe said softly. I give you my word: your grandfather will have a chef cooking for him every day of his life. Your pockets don't need to carry your future anymore.
She hesitated, then picked up the silver spoon, tasting the broth. A quiet tear tracked through the dust on her cheek, followed by a second, before she began eating with urgent, quiet dignity.
Arthur watched her from the recliner, tears welling in his aged eyes. Enzo was a good man, Gabriel. Hard, yes. But he had honor. When Sal took over, the soul left our streets. Protection money doubled. Small shops were burned down for insurance scams. He turned our neighborhood into a butcher shop.
He won't govern another sunrise, Gabe stated, checking his watch. It was eleven-fifteen.
Boss, Tommy entered the room, holding an envelope. The council members have arrived downstairs. Don Moretti, Don Lucchese, and the old man Bianchi. Sal Ferraro just pulled into the underground valet with sixteen armed men. He’s telling everyone you’re walking into your own execution.
Are the audio transfers complete? Gabe asked Marcus.
Loaded onto the sound system in the ballroom, Marcus confirmed. We transferred the tape reels from the clock mechanism to digital files. Enzo's voice is as clear as day.
Gabe stood, fastening the cuffs of his freshly pressed shirt—this time, using the skeleton keys Arthur had unlocked. He slipped into his charcoal overcoat.
Nora stood up from the table, wiping her mouth with a napkin. Mister Gabe?
Yes, Nora?
Don't let them hurt you, she said, clutching the wooden handle of her cigar box. Bad men yell a lot when they're scared. My dad used to yell before he left. When they yell, it means they know they're wrong.
Gabe crouched before her, offering a rare, genuine smile. That is the wisest piece of advice I have heard in fourteen years, Nora Quinn. Wait here with Dr. Levin. When I come back, we're going to order every flavor of ice cream this hotel owns.
May you like
She smiled back, a bright, radiant flash of pure childhood that cut through the darkness of the room like morning sun.
Gabe turned toward the door, his face instantly hardening into stone. Let's go meet my uncle, he said.
