Chapter 9 - Ashes and Embers
The private helicopter lifted off from the Midtown helipad, banking sharply toward the Atlantic as the glowing grid of Manhattan receded into the dark horizon below.
Inside the cabin, the noise of the twin turbines was a low, steady roar. Dante sat across from Evelyn, a glass of bourbon in his hand, watching her through the dim interior lighting. She was staring out the window at the dark water far below, her reflection ghostly against the tinted glass.
"You could have had him killed," Dante said quietly, his voice carrying over the sound of the rotors. "In my world, leaving a traitor alive is a tactical error."
Evelyn turned her head slowly, meeting his dark gaze without flinching. "Killing him would make me no different than you, Dante. Or him. I'm not a criminal, and I'm not an asset."
A slow, complex expression crossed Dante's face—something between deep respect and quiet fascination. He set his glass down on the small mahogany table between them and leaned forward.
"Then what are you, Evelyn?"
She held his gaze, the fear that had gripped her in the auction house completely gone, replaced by an unshakable, forged resilience. "I'm the person who just helped you recover your empire. Which means you owe me."
Dante let out a low, dark chuckle that vibrated in his chest. "Is that right? And what does the Syndicate's newest stakeholder want? Money? Real estate? Immunity?"
"I want the bakery in Brooklyn back," Evelyn said calmly. "The ovens are outdated, the register is crooked, and the croissants taste like cardboard on Tuesdays. But it's mine."
Dante stared at her for a long moment, the corner of his mouth twitching upward into a genuine, unforced smile—the first one she had ever seen on him.
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"Done," Dante said. "And the fifty million?"
"Consider it a deposit," Evelyn replied, leaning back against the leather seat with a cool, untouchable composure that belonged entirely to a Bellamy.
