Chapter 5 - The Glass Threshold
The air in the salon instantly turned to iron.
"How did they find us?" Adrian demanded, his gaze snapping to Marco.
"The salon receptionist," Marco said, pointing a finger at the trembling woman behind the counter. "When you laid down ninety grand, she recognized your name and sent a tip to Vance's security firm for a finder's fee."
The receptionist shrank back, dropping her phone onto the desk.
Adrian didn't waste time on anger. He turned to Evangeline, who was staring at the front glass doors in paralyzing horror. Outside, through the falling snow, four heavy-set men in dark tactical coats were crossing Fifth Avenue, their hands tucked inside their jackets.
"Théo," Adrian commanded coldly. "Take your staff into the back office and lock the steel door. Now."
Théo didn't argue. He grabbed his colorists and fled through the velvet curtains toward the executive suites.
"Marco, secure the rear alley exit," Adrian ordered, pulling his heavy .45 caliber handgun from his inner coat lining, ignoring the sharp flare of agony in his wounded ribs.
"Boss, you're bleeding through your suit," Marco warned, drawing his own weapon.
"I don't care. Move!"
Adrian grabbed a clean, heavy cashmere coat from the salon's retail display, wrapped it securely around Evangeline's shoulders, and pulled her up from the chair. Her new hair, now cut into a clean, shoulder-length bob of shining honey-gold, framed a face that was pale but resolute.
"Can you run?" Adrian asked, looking straight into her eyes.
Evangeline looked at the heavy glass doors, then down at his gun, then back at his face. The fear was still there, but beneath it, the fierce survival instinct that had kept her alive in frozen alleys for a decade flickered back to life.
"I've been running for ten years, Adrian," she said, her raspy voice steady. "I know how to run."
The front glass doors of the salon swung open with a sharp, heavy gust of winter air.
In walked Richard Cross, Victor Vance's chief enforcement officer—a broad-shouldered man with a jagged scar across his jaw and eyes like hollow stone. Behind him stood three armed guards.
Richard stopped on the white marble floor, his eyes scanning the empty salon until they landed on Evangeline. He blinked, stunned by the transformation, but his expression quickly hardened into a cruel, triumphant sneer.
"Well, well," Richard purred, stepping forward. "Look what crawled out of the gutter. Uncle Victor has been paying millions to keep your ghost buried, Evangeline."
"Step back, Richard," Adrian said, stepping directly in front of Evangeline, his weapon raised and steady.
Richard let out a dry, raspy laugh. "Adrian Kane. The street orphan Julian took in. I heard you took a bullet on Suffolk Street yesterday. You look like hell, Kane. You really think you can stand between the Vance empire and its rightful heir?"
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"She isn't an heir to your blood money," Adrian said, his finger tightening on the trigger. "She's the owner of it. And you're standing on my property."
"Take her," Richard ordered his men.
