Chapter 3 - The Summons
While Dr. Evans wrapped Stella’s chest in a firm supportive bandage and administered a mild sedative, the city outside remained wrapped in darkness. Stella lay under a soft cashmere blanket on Jonah’s private office sofa, her physical pain dulling into a hazy ache, but her mind racing with disbelief.
For three years, Dean Keller had been the master of her universe. His voice had dictated when she slept, what she wore, and how quietly she walked across their shared apartment. She had been trapped in an invisible cage built of guilt, fear, and physical intimidation.
Now, she was lying inside the sanctuary of the most feared man in Manhattan.
The door opened quietly. Jonah walked back into the room, holding a warm cup of herbal tea and a small plate of dry toast. He stepped softly, startlingly graceful for a man built like a heavy weight boxer.
“Drink this,” he ordered gently, placing the tea on the side table. “It will help with the nausea from the painkillers.”
Stella pushed herself up against the leather cushions, wrapping the soft blanket higher around her shoulders. “Why are you doing this?”
Jonah leaned against the heavy wooden desk, crossing his arms. “Doing what?”
“Helping me,” she whispered, staring into the dark amber liquid of the tea. “Men like you don't do favors. Dean said guys like you only care about leverage and profit.”
Jonah let out a quiet, cynical breath. “Dean Keller is a small-minded parasite who thinks brutality equals strength. He uses women to cover his debts because he’s too weak to face his own obligations. I don't operate like that.”
He took a step closer, his eyes scanning her pale face. “My father raised me with two rules, Stella. First, you honor your word in business. Second, you never, under any circumstances, allow a coward to bleed an innocent person in your name. Keller brought you into my house to hide his theft. That made his cruelty my business.”
Before Stella could respond, the heavy brass door handle turned. Wyatt stepped inside, his face grave.
“He’s downstairs,” Wyatt reported. “We picked him up at the bar on 8th Street. He was bragging to his friends about how he sent his girl to handle his business with you.”
Stella’s breath hitched, her hand trembling as she set the teacup down.
Jonah saw her fear. He turned to her, his voice softening into something surprisingly gentle. “Stay here. The door locks from the inside. Nobody enters this room unless I unlock it.”
“Jonah...” she called out instinctively before he reached the doorway.
He paused, looking back over his shoulder.
“Please,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Don't let him come up here.”
“He will never enter this room, Stella,” Jonah promised, his dark eyes burning with an unshakeable promise. “Rest.”
Down in the concrete basement beneath Aurelia, Dean Keller was sitting on a wooden chair, handcuffed to a steel support pillar. The air was cold, smelling of damp stone and old wine casks. His hair was damp from the rain, and his leather jacket had been torn during his sudden apprehension.
When the heavy steel door creaked open and Jonah Pierce walked down the stairs, Dean immediately tried to put on his usual arrogant smirk.
“Jonah!” Dean called out, chuckling nervously. “Come on, man! Is this really necessary? Your guys snatched me right out of the pub! If this is about the monthly payment, I sent Stella over with the forty grand—I mean fifty grand! Did she drop it?”
Jonah walked over slowly, pulling a pair of dark leather gloves onto his hands. He didn't speak. He didn't raise his voice. He simply stood three feet away from Dean, looking down at him with absolute, icy silence.
Dean’s smirk began to falter under the weight of that unblinking stare. The sweat on his forehead glistened in the harsh overhead light.
“Look... if the envelope was short, it’s Stella’s fault!” Dean babbled frantically, his voice rising in pitch. “She’s been stealing from me! I swear it! I gave her the full fifty thousand! She probably kept ten grand for herself! You know how women are, Jonah—they lie, they steal—”
CRACK.
Jonah’s gloved fist struck Dean across the jaw with terrifying speed and force.
The wooden chair rattled violently against the concrete. Dean screamed as blood burst from his split lip, his head snapping back against the steel pillar.
“Don't speak her name with that filthy mouth,” Jonah growled softly, stepping right into Dean’s personal space, grabbing his collar with one massive hand. “She didn't steal a dime. You shorted my payment, and then you sent a girl with cracked ribs and a face covered in bruises to deliver your lies.”
Dean’s eyes widened in sudden, horrifying comprehension. “She... she told you?”
“She didn't have to say a word,” Jonah whispered into Dean’s ear, his tone dropping into a terrifying register. “Her body told me everything. You’ve been beating her, Keller.”
“She’s my girlfriend!” Dean yelled, desperate and bleeding. “What I do in my home ain't your business, Pierce! You're a mob boss, not a damn social worker!”
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Jonah’s grip on Dean’s collar tightened until the man began to turn blue.
“You’re wrong,” Jonah said coldly. “Everything in this city that touches my money is my business. And starting tonight, Stella Hayes belongs to my protection. Which means if you ever look in her direction, speak her name, or walk down the same street as her again... I won't just kill you, Keller. I’ll make sure your body is never found.”
