Chapter 5 - The Dead Man's Ghost|
Across the grand ballroom, Alexander Ashford pushed himself away from his table.
The ruler of New York's underworld looked as if he had just been struck by lightning. His usual cold, ruthless expression had completely evaporated, replaced by a pale, hollow shock.
"Alexander!" Victoria whined, regaining her balance and clutching her gown. "Did you see what this wretched girl just did to me? She put her filthy hands on me! Have your men throw her out!"
Alexander ignored her completely.
He walked across the marble floor, his polished leather shoes clicking in steady, deliberate beats. The crowd parted around him like the Red Sea. His bodyguards followed two steps behind, their hands tucked inside their jackets, but Alexander raised a single finger, stopping them in their tracks.
He stopped two feet in front of me.
Up close, his storm-gray eyes were intense, searching my face with a terrifying desperation.
"Who taught you that movement?" he asked. His voice was a raspy whisper that barely left his lips.
I swallowed hard, keeping my arms pinned to my sides. "My... my father, sir."
Alexander took a ragged breath, his chest heaving under his dark suit. "What was his name?"
"Miguel Reyes," I said quietly.
A heavy silence descended over the room. Alexander’s hands curled into tight fists at his sides, his knuckles turning white.
"Was your father..." Alexander swallowed, his throat moving with difficulty. "...was he the repairman who saved a boy outside the Astoria subway station six years ago?"
My knees went weak. The floor beneath me felt like it was shifting.
"Yes," I breathed, tears pricking the back of my eyes. "How... how do you know that?"
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Alexander looked at me, his eyes filled with a pain so deep it shocked me.
"Because," Alexander whispered, "the boy he saved that night... was me."
