Chapter 2 - Five Black Beasts
Sleep never came. Elara spent the remaining hours of the night pacing the worn hardwood floor of her kitchen, nursing a mug of black coffee that had long gone cold. She kept the indoor lights switched off, peering through the wooden blinds every few minutes at the dark, swollen lake.
Leandro did not sleep either. He sat on the edge of the sofa, leaning forward with his elbows rested on his knees, staring intently at the front door. Every creak of the cabin, every rustle of the wind through the pines outside made Elara jump, but Leandro remained still as stone, his breathing slow and measured.
As dawn broke over the Adirondack foothills, the storm finally exhausted itself. A heavy, ghostly mist clung to the lake, swirling around the rotted wooden pilings of Elara’s dock where her skiff sat battered and scarred. The rising sun painted the sky in pale shades of lavender and cold gray.
Then the silence shattered.
It began as a low, synchronized rumble vibrating through the cabin floorboards—a deep mechanical growl that shook the coffee mugs hanging on Elara's brass rack.
""They're here,"" Leandro said quietly, standing up from the sofa. He walked with a pronounced limp, his right leg stiff, but his back was completely straight.
Elara hurried to the front window and pulled back the curtain by two inches. Her breath hitched.
Rolling slowly down her private, rutted dirt driveway were five identical, pitch-black armored Cadillac Escalades. Their windows were tinted dark as obsidian, their chassis heavy and imposing against the wild green ferns lining the driveway. They moved in perfect military formation, turning in unison to form a defensive semi-circle in front of her porch, effectively sealing off any escape route.
The engines cut simultaneously. An unnatural silence fell over the clearing.
Doors opened in precision unison. A dozen men stepped out into the morning fog. They were all dressed in tailored charcoal suits, dark overcoats, and tactical earpieces. Their postures were rigid, their hands hovering near their lapels. Automatic rifles hung discreetly beneath heavy jackets.
Elara backed away from the window, her blood running cold. ""Leandro... they found you. The men who blew up your plane, they're here.""
""Breathe, little bird,"" Leandro said calmly, placing a heavy hand on her shoulder. His touch was unexpectedly grounding. ""Those are not my enemies. Those are my men.""
The front door of the center vehicle swung open, and an older man with silver hair and an impeccably tailored three-piece suit stepped out. He looked up at the weathered A-frame cabin, his sharp eyes taking in the perimeter before walking briskly up the wooden porch steps.
Two sharp, deliberate raps sounded against the front door.
""Open it,"" Leandro instructed softly.
Trembling, Elara turned the brass deadbolt and pulled the door open.
The silver-haired man looked down at her with a piercing, assessing gaze. Before he could speak, his eyes drifted past her shoulder to Leandro standing in the shadowed foyer. Instantly, the man bowed his head in profound respect.
""Don Leandro,"" the man said, his voice clipped and European. ""We tracked your transponder's final ping before it sank. When the radar dropped over Blackwater, we feared the worst.""
""Marco is dead, Vincent,"" Leandro said, his tone turning into cold ice. ""Salvatore made his move sooner than we anticipated.""
Vincent’s jaw tightened. ""We will dismantle his entire family by nightfall, sir.""
Vincent turned his gaze back to Elara, his eyes narrowing as he took in her oversized faded sweater, her bare feet, and the soot smeared across her pale face. ""And who is this?""
""This is Elara Vance,"" Leandro said, stepping forward so that his imposing frame towered over her. ""She dragged me out of three fathoms of freezing water and cut me out of the cockpit with an anchor while the hull was sinking.""
Vincent’s demeanor transformed instantly. The ruthless hardness melted from his expression, replaced by solemn, profound reverence. He placed his right hand over his heart and gave her a deep, formal bow.
""Then Miss Vance has just placed the entire Moretti syndicate in her debt,"" Vincent said quietly. ""A debt that can never truly be repaid.""
May you like
Elara’s head spun. ""Moretti? As in... the Moretti shipping dynasty? The New York syndicate?""
Leandro looked down at her, the morning light finally illuminating the fierce, unyielding depths of his dark eyes. ""Pack a bag, Elara. Salvatore's hitmen will search the crash site by noon. When they find my plane at the bottom of your lake, they will burn this forest to ash. You are coming with me.""
