Chapter 4 - Shadows at the Door
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By eight o’clock that evening, the rain had turned into a torrential downpour that lashed against the streets of Queens.
Norah climbed the narrow, creaking stairs of her modest apartment building, her body aching with exhaustion.
Her mind was still swimming with shipping manifests, disguised wire transfers, and the haunting intensity of Dante’s eyes.
Every time she closed her eyelids, she could still feel the warmth of his breath against her skin.
She shook her head furiously, trying to banish the criminal boss from her thoughts as she reached her third-floor landing.
She slipped her apartment key into the brass deadbolt, but the door gave way before the key could turn.
The lock was completely splintered, the wooden frame fractured into jagged, raw splinters.
Norah froze, every instinct screaming at her to turn around and sprint down the fire escape.
Before she could take a step backward, a heavy hand grabbed her trench coat and yanked her violently into the dark hallway.
She slammed against the plaster wall, knocking the wind entirely out of her lungs.
"Where is the boy, Gallagher?" a raspy, unfamiliar voice growled out of the darkness.
A man wearing a soaked nylon windbreaker and a black baseball cap stepped into the faint light of the corridor.
In his gloved right hand, he held a short steel pry bar, its edge stained with chipped paint from her door.
"I don't know where Finn is," Norah gasped, struggling to catch her breath while backing toward the kitchen counter.
"Your brother took something that doesn't belong to him, and somebody has to settle the account tonight."
"His debt is with Russo Holdings, not with whatever gutter you crawled out of!" she snapped, adrenaline flooding her system.
The man laughed, a wet, ugly sound that made her skin crawl.
"Russo doesn't own every dock in this city, sweetheart."
He raised the steel bar, stepping forward with murderous intent in his dull gray eyes.
Norah reached frantically behind her, her fingers curling around the heavy handle of a cast-iron skillet on the stovetop.
Before the intruder could swing, the apartment’s front door exploded inward with a deafening crash.
A blur of dark motion surged through the shattered entryway with terrifying, military efficiency.
A silenced gunshot hissed through the room like escaping steam, followed instantly by the wet thud of lead hitting meat.
The intruder screamed, dropping the pry bar as he collapsed onto the linoleum floor, clutching his shattered right knee.
Marco stood in the doorway, a sleek black pistol held steady in both hands, his expression completely blank.
Behind him walked Dante Russo, wearing a long black wool overcoat that was speckled with drops of autumn rain.
Dante did not even look at the bleeding man writhing on the floor; his amber eyes locked onto Norah with savage intensity.
"Are you touched?" Dante demanded, his voice trembling with a ferocious, barely contained rage.
"No," she whispered, her fingers slowly unclenching from the heavy skillet.
Dante closed the distance between them in two strides, his large hands cupping her face with startling tenderness.
His leather gloves were cold and wet against her flushed cheeks, but his touch was surprisingly gentle.
"Look at me, Norah," he ordered softly.
She looked into his eyes and saw a blazing fire that was both terrifying and strangely intoxicating.
"I'm fine," she insisted, though her voice shook uncontrollably.
"He didn't touch you," Dante repeated, more to himself than to her, exhaling a slow, ragged breath.
He turned his attention down toward the man groaning on the floor, his expression hardening into pure venom.
Dante pressed the toe of his expensive shoe into the man's ruined knee, eliciting a shrill shriek of agony.
"Who sent you into this apartment, Salvatore?" Dante asked, his tone deceptively mild.
"Go to hell, Russo," the man spat, blood bubbling between his clenched yellow teeth.
"The Moretti family is moving on your docks, and you can't stop it."
Dante did not flinch; he simply applied more downward pressure until the man whimpered and passed out from the pain.
"Marco, clean this vermin out of her kitchen and put him in the cold room downstairs," Dante ordered coldly.
"Yes, Boss."
Dante turned back to Norah, his hands dropping to take her trembling fingers into his own warm grip.
"Pack one bag, Miss Gallagher."
"What? Why?"
"Because the people who are trying to steal my business now know you are the key to finding them."
"I have a life here, Dante; I have a job, an apartment—"
"You have a death warrant if you stay in this building another thirty minutes," he interrupted flatly.
He leaned closer, his dark eyes leaving no room for argument or negotiation.
"From this moment onward, you sleep under my roof, where nobody can reach you without going through me."
Norah looked at the blood on her floor, then at the man offering her absolute protection.
She realized with terrifying clarity that she was stepping into the eye of a hurricane.
"Five minutes," she whispered.
May you like
Dante offered a faint, approving nod.
"Make it four, princess."
