Chapter 2 - Inside the Maybach
The interior of the Mercedes-Maybach was a jarring contrast to the damp, salt-rotted decay of the docks. It smelled faintly of aged leather, expensive bourbon, and cedarwood. The cabin was whisper-quiet, insulated from the howling wind and crashing surf outside.
Norma sat stiffly on the plush Nappa leather seat, clutching the blanket-wrapped puppy tighter to her chest. Across from her sat Joseph Trevino.
In the dim, ambient amber glow of the dashboard, the Ice King looked even more formidable than he had on the beach. He had removed his heavy wool coat, revealing a tailored charcoal suit and a crisp white shirt opened at the collar. His silver-streaked dark hair was slicked back, and his sharp, angular jawline remained set in a hard, unreadable line. For several long minutes, nobody spoke. Trevino simply stared at the puppy, his dark eyes softening in a way that seemed almost unnatural for a man rumored to run the harbor with an iron fist and a hidden blade.
"What's his name?" Trevino finally asked, his voice low, resonant, and carrying a faint, refined cadence that commanded the space around him.
"I... I don't know," Norma whispered, clearing her throat to steady her nerves. "He didn't come with a collar when he washed toward the pylons."
Trevino leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his manicured hands clasped together. He looked from the puppy up to Norma, really seeing her for the first time—the faded cotton dress, the raw scratches on her knuckles from the rocks, the fierce, unyielding pride in her bright hazel eyes.
"You risked your life for a dog that doesn't belong to you," Trevino said, testing her, probing for weakness or hidden motive. "Fishermen's daughters around here usually know better than to swim in a rip tide for stray animals. Especially mine."
"He wasn't a stray," Norma countered, her chin lifting slightly despite the intimidation. "And he wasn't just an animal. He was drowning. Water doesn't care who owns you when it pulls you under. It just kills."
A flicker of something resembling surprise crossed Trevino’s severe features. It was rare for anyone in this city—let alone an eighteen-year-old girl in a tattered dress—to speak to him with such unfiltered honesty.
"You're Thomas Smith's girl," Trevino stated, more as a fact-check than a question. "The one who fixes the rigging down at Berth Four. Honest work. Hard work."
"We get by," Norma said tightly. "Or we used to, before the harbor fees doubled last month."
Trevino’s gaze sharpened, catching the subtle jab. A ghost of a smirk touched the corner of his mouth, gone as quickly as it appeared. He reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a sleek, heavy leather folder, placing it on the center console between them.
"You saved Bruno," Trevino said softly, gesturing toward the sleeping puppy. "In my world, debts are paid in full, and they are paid immediately. Open the folder, Norma."
Norma hesitated, her fingers trembling slightly as she lifted the leather cover. Inside was a single sheet of embossed paper—a legal deed clearing her father's boat shed of all back-taxes, resetting their dock leases to zero for the next decade, and an attached cashier's check made out to her name for an amount that equaled five years of hard labor.
May you like
She stared at the numbers, her breath catching in her throat. "I can't take this. I didn't save him for a reward."
"Consider it an investment," Trevino replied smoothly, leaning back against the leather seat. "I don't like owing favors, Miss Smith. And more importantly, Bruno seems to like you. Which means you're going to keep him."
