Chapter 8 - The Aftermath in Ashes
The clean-up of Hudson Yards took less than an hour under the practiced efficiency of Lorenzo Romano’s disposal crews.
Local police frequencies remained completely silent; Lorenzo’s political connections had ensured that the entire industrial district was marked as an active electrical maintenance zone for the night.
Darius sat on the bumper of the ambulance Lorenzo had discreetly summoned to the rear docks. A paramedic had bandaged his bicep and cleaned the shrapnel cuts across his forehead.
Victor was stabilized on a stretcher inside, breathing with the help of an oxygen mask, his vital signs finally out of the critical zone.
Lorenzo walked over, holding two paper cups of black coffee from a nearby thermos. He offered one to Darius, who took it without looking up.
"The Vesper accounts are being frozen by my team as we speak," Lorenzo said, leaning against the ambulance fender. "Albert’s surviving lieutenants have already pledged fealty to you. The war is over before the sunrise, Costa."
"You didn't have to help her," Darius said, his voice completely depleted of energy.
"I didn't do it for you," Lorenzo replied honestly, watching Evelyn as she checked Victor’s IV line inside the vehicle. "A woman like that comes along once in a lifetime, Darius. A woman who walks into a lion's den with two million dollars and a pair of surgical shears just to keep her idiot husband from getting butchered."
Lorenzo turned, looking down at Darius with cold amusement. "If you ever throw her out into the rain again, don't bother looking for her in London. She won't have to look far for a man who actually knows what she's worth."
Darius’s jaw tightened, but he didn't rise to the bait. He knew Lorenzo was right.
Lorenzo tossed his empty cup into a metal drum and signaled his driver. "Take care of your business, Costa. We talk boundaries next week."
As the Romano convoy pulled away, the warehouse floor emptied out, leaving only Darius, Evelyn, and the silent hum of the ambulance engine.
Darius stood up slowly, the pain in his arm throbbing in time with his heartbeat. He walked toward the back of the ambulance where Evelyn was packing away her medical supplies.
She had washed the soot from her hands, but her hair was still matted from the rain, and the hem of her dark trousers was soaked in mud.
"Evelyn," he said.
She paused, keeping her back to him for a long moment before turning around.
The distance between them felt wider than the entire Atlantic Ocean.
"Victor will recover," she said, her voice professional, distant, and guarded. "The bullet passed through the deltoid without severing the brachial plexus. He needs three weeks of rest and antibiotics."
May you like
"I don't care about Victor right now," Darius whispered.
"You should," she replied, looking past him into the gray light of dawn creeping across the river. "He was the only man in your house who remembered what honor meant tonight."
