Chapter 2 - The Command on the Line
Dominic pulled a tailored black wool coat over his shoulders, adjusting the silk lapels with an eerie, cold calm. He reached into the hidden cabinet beneath the bookshelf and removed a sleek black satellite phone.
He dialed a single digit. The connection was instantaneous, as if the person on the other end had been holding the receiver in the dark.
"Arthur," Dominic said, his voice flat and commandingly clear. "Wake the harbor units."
A low, gravelly voice crackled through the speaker. "All five battalions, boss?"
"All of them," Dominic replied, slipping a spare clip of hollow-point ammunition into his coat pocket. "Tell Leo to bring the offshore interceptor boats into the Gowanus Canal. Block the water exit from the Atlantic Basin."
Nora’s breath hitched in her throat. She had read the encrypted files on those offshore interceptors; they were military-grade gunboats disguised as luxury yachts.
"And Arthur," Dominic continued, his cold eyes flicking toward Nora. "Tell Marcus to deploy the private drone surveillance over the grain terminal. If a single soul attempts to move a vehicle out of Pier 41, disable the engine blocks."
"Understood, Mr. Falcone. Timeframe?"
"Six minutes," Dominic said, ending the call with a click.
He turned back to Nora, who stood frozen beside the unzipped canvas duffel bag. The fifty thousand dollars in cash she had gathered over three years of secret planning looked utterly pathetic against the machinery Dominic had just awakened.
"Put your coat on," Dominic ordered, handing her the heavy black cashmere wrap draped over the vanity chair.
"You're taking me with you?" Nora asked, her eyes widening in disbelief. "To a hostage exchange?"
"You are not an exchange, Nora," Dominic said, stepping close enough that she could smell the cedarwood and sharp tobacco on his collar. "You are my chief of staff. You don't leave my side, especially when another man demands an audience with you."
"Dominic, if Lily sees you—"
"If your sister sees me, she will see the man who is going to keep her alive," he interrupted, his fingers lightly brushing her cheek to tuck a stray lock of dark hair behind her ear.
The tenderness of the gesture paralyzed her. For three long years, she had convinced herself that Dominic Falcone viewed her as nothing more than a flawless human calculator who kept his schedules pristine.
Yet the raw, feral fury burning in his pupils told a story she wasn't prepared to read.
"Let’s go," Dominic said, gripping her elbow with gentle, unbreakable strength.
They took the private elevator directly down to the underground garage, bypassing the main lobby entirely. The steel doors opened onto a fleet of armored black sedans idling in silence, their exhaust plumes curling through the damp concrete air.
Ten men in dark tactical suits stood beside the lead vehicle, their weapons hidden beneath long overcoats. When Dominic emerged, every single man snapped to attention without making a sound.
"Sir," the lead guard acknowledged, opening the heavy rear door of the armored Maybach.
Dominic guided Nora into the leather interior before sliding in beside her. The door shut with a heavy, pressurized thud that sealed them off from the world.
As the convoy surged out into the rain-drenched streets of Manhattan, Nora’s phone buzzed again on her lap.
Dominic leaned over her shoulder, his face inches from hers.
May you like
The message was an image: a timer counting down from three minutes, superimposed over a live video feed of Lily crying against an industrial radiator.
Rostov's text followed: Two minutes, Natalie Hughes. Or I take her fingers one by one.
