Chapter 3 - The Price of a Secret
Nema’s fingers trembled slightly as she picked up the manila envelope and lifted the flap. Inside lay a stack of documents: a cashier's check with an amount that made her breath catch in her throat, a clear title deed to a secure, modern apartment downtown, and a new identity package complete with a passport, bank cards, and encrypted communication devices.
She stared at the papers, then looked back up at Dom with a mixture of disbelief and fury.
"What is this? Hush money?" she demanded, sliding the envelope back across the mahogany desk. "You think you can just buy me off, pack me away in some luxury box, and pretend none of this happened?"
"It’s not hush money," Dom said evenly, not touching the envelope. "It’s relocation and hazard pay. Tommy knows your face. Vance’s people saw you humiliate their asset in that diner. By tomorrow morning, every corner thug and corporate fixer on their payroll will be looking for the waitress who ruined the hit."
"So your solution is to hide me?" Nema stood up, her canvas bag dropping to the floor with a heavy thud. "Run me out of my own city like a criminal?"
"My solution is to keep you alive," Dom countered, his voice rising just enough to command the room. "You think this is a game, Nema? Vance doesn't leave loose ends. If you walk out those front gates right now and go back to your apartment, you won't live to see the sunset. Not because I’ll hurt you, but because Tommy will tie up the loose end you created."
Nema clenched her fists at her sides. Every instinct screamed that she was walking into another trap, trading one kind of cage for a gilded one. But as she looked into Dom’s dark, unwavering eyes, she knew he wasn't exaggerating. She had stepped onto a battlefield she didn't belong on, and the bullets were already flying.
"And what about you?" she asked, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "What happens to the man who drank—or almost drank—the coffee?"
A cold, dangerous smile spread across Dom’s face. "I don't drink coffee after midnight, Nema. I prefer scotch. Tommy forgot that rule. And because he forgot, he signed his own death warrant."
"You're going to kill him?"
"I am going to dismantle everything he thinks he built, and then I am going to have a very polite conversation with Arthur Vance," Dom said smoothly. He walked over to the desk, picked up the manila envelope, and held it out to her. "You can take the package, let Vincent drive you to the secure apartment, and live out the rest of your days in peace. Or you can walk out those doors, take your chances on the street, and see how long your luck holds out."
Nema stared at the envelope. She thought of her cramped apartment, the flickering neon lights outside Frank’s Diner, the constant, grinding terror of barely surviving from one paycheck to the next.
She reached out, took the envelope, and tucked it securely under her arm.
"I'm not hiding, Mr. Vasquez," Nema said, her voice steadying as a fierce, rebellious spark ignited in her chest. "If I'm a target now, then I want to know who’s shooting. If you want my silence, you're going to have to keep me close enough to watch how you handle things."
Dom stared at her for a long, intense moment. Then, slowly, a look of genuine respect replaced the cold calculation in his eyes.
"Vincent," Dom called out without turning around.
May you like
The heavy study door clicked open immediately. "Yes, Mr. Vasquez?"
"Get the guest suite in the main corridor ready," Dom instructed, never breaking eye contact with Nema. "Miss Reyes isn't leaving. She’s joining the security detail."
