Chapter 1 - The Cold Truth of the Varrick Estate
The heavy oak door of the Tribeca penthouse clicked shut behind the guards, leaving a suffocating silence in its wake. Outside, the rain beat a relentless rhythm against the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, blurring the lights of the Manhattan skyline into bleeding streaks of red and yellow.
Inside the master suite, the air felt thin, charged with a dark, volatile energy that made the hairs on the back of my arms stand up.
Gabriel Varrick stood frozen beside his daughter’s bed, his massive frame casting a long, rigid shadow across the pale carpet. His jaw was clenched so tight I could see the muscle ticking beneath his skin. The terrifying reputation of New York’s most feared underworld figure wasn't built on loud shouting or dramatic threats; it was built on moments like this—moments where a man’s silence carried the weight of a firing squad.
"Celeste," Gabriel whispered, the name tasting like poison on his tongue.
I remained seated on the floor near the doorway, keeping my movements slow and deliberate. My heart was hammering against my ribs, a stark reminder of the eighty-one thousand dollars waiting for me at the hospital and the fifteen thousand in cash sitting in an envelope inside my canvas bag.
"Mr. Varrick," I said softly, breaking the thick silence before it snapped.
His dark eyes whipped toward me. In them, grief and rage warred for dominance, but beneath both was a terrifying, icy focus.
"She was in the car," Gabriel said, his voice dangerously low. "Celeste was supposed to be in Philadelphia for a foundation meeting. Her assistant confirmed she flew out two days before the hit."
"People lie about flight schedules, Mr. Varrick," I replied, keeping my voice steady. "Especially when they stand to inherit an empire—or destroy one."
Lily let out a faint whimper from beneath the pink duvet, her small hand clutching the edge of the blanket. Her IV line rattled slightly against the metal stand. Gabriel was across the room in a fraction of a second, dropping to one knee beside the bed with a gentleness that contrasted violently with his terrifying aura.
"I'm here, Lily-bug," he murmured, his voice softening into a register I wouldn't have believed possible. "Daddy's right here. You're safe."
"She said... she said the bad men were coming back," Lily whispered, her eyes fluttering open just enough to reveal heavy, bruised purple shadows beneath them. Her lips were cracked, dry from four days of total refusal. "Aunt Celeste gave the man my blue jacket so they knew which car was ours."
Gabriel closed his eyes. When he opened them, the last shred of human warmth had vanished, replaced by something cold, ancient, and lethal.
He stood up slowly and walked out into the hallway. I heard the low, fierce murmur of his voice giving orders to Dante, his chief enforcer.
"Find her," Gabriel commanded through the open door. "I want every port, every private airstrip, every safehouse locked down. If she's still within fifty miles of the city, bring her to me. Alive."
I stood up, brushing the dust from my jeans, and walked over to the bedside table where a cup of water and a crushed-ice tray sat untouched. Using a tiny medical syringe we used for critical hydration, I drew a few drops of water and walked slowly toward the bed.
"Lily?" I said, stopping a safe distance away.
The little girl didn't look at me, but she didn't shrink away either.
"Your dad is going to take care of everything," I whispered, kneeling down to her eye level. "Just a tiny drop of water for your lips. No force. I promise."
Lily stared at the syringe for a long, agonizing moment. Then, slowly, she parted her dry lips.
When Gabriel walked back into the room a minute later, his phone clutched tightly in his fist, he stopped dead in his tracks. He watched as I administered a second drop of water, followed by a tiny chip of crushed ice that Lily finally swallowed with a soft sigh.
Gabriel exhaled a breath he seemed to have been holding since the night of the ambush. He walked over, pulled up a velvet chair, and sat down beside me on the floor.
"How did you do that?" he asked quietly.
"I didn't do anything," I replied, setting the tray down. "She just needed to know nobody was going to force her to be brave right now."
Gabriel looked at me—truly looked at me—for the first time. The ice in his eyes thawed just enough to reveal a desperate, shattered father beneath the armor of a mob boss.
"How much did Vivian promise you?" he asked suddenly.
"Fifteen thousand for the week. Seventy-five for the month."
Gabriel reached into his tailored jacket, pulled out a thick, unmarked envelope bound with a bank band, and tossed it onto the bedside table.
May you like
"That's fifty thousand. Advance payment," he said flatly. "Stay until she eats a full meal. Stay until she sleeps through the night without screaming. And if Celeste tries to come anywhere near this house..."
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.
