Chapter 7 - The Viper’s Offer
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By midday, the Moretti penthouse was on lockdown.
Dante had his tech specialists sweeping every inch of the lower floors for bugs while Clara sat in the sunroom with Toby, playing cards she couldn't focus on. Her brother looked better—the color had returned to his cheeks, and the pain medication had dulled the agony in his knee—but the guilt in his eyes was crushing.
"I ruined your life, Clara," Toby whispered, setting his cards face down on the glass table. "Everything you worked for... gone in one night because I couldn't walk away from a poker table."
"Hey," Clara said firmly, reaching across to squeeze his hand. "Don't talk like that. The apartment was just stuff. That restaurant was just a job. You’re alive. That’s all that matters."
"You saw those guys in the hallway with the guns, right?" Toby glanced nervously toward the heavy oak doors where one of Dante’s guards stood watch. "Dante Moretti isn't a charity, Clara. Men like him always collect."
Before Clara could answer, the spare cellphone Dante had given her for emergencies vibrated inside her jeans pocket.
Frowning, she pulled it out. Only Dante and Luca were supposed to have the number. The screen flashed: UNKNOWN CALLER.
Then a text message popped up right below it, accompanied by a photograph.
Clara opened the image and nearly dropped the phone. It was a picture of her best friend and fellow waitress from L’Ombra, Maya, walking out of her Brooklyn brownstone twenty minutes ago, completely unaware of the camera zoomed in on the back of her head.
Beneath the photo was a message: Answer the phone, little bird. Or your friend takes the fall for your heroics.
Clara’s blood went cold. Excusing herself with a forced smile to Toby, she stepped onto the wind-swept balcony, slid the glass door shut to block the sound, and hit accept.
"Leave Maya out of this," Clara hissed into the receiver. "She wasn't even working our section last night!"
A low, cultured chuckle echoed over the line, thick with an Eastern European accent. "Resourceful, observant, and fiercely loyal. No wonder Dante traded a thoroughbred like Camilla Sterling for a street stray."
"Viktor Kael," Clara breathed.
"In the flesh, Ms. Vance," Viktor purred. "You cost me a very expensive operation last night. Four good men dead. A million-dollar turf war ignited six weeks ahead of schedule. All because you couldn't keep your eyes off a bathroom mirror."
"Your men burned down my home and tried to kill my brother!"
"Business, my dear. Your brother stole from my tables," Viktor replied smoothly. "However, I am a pragmatic man. I can forgive the boy’s eighty thousand. In fact, I’ll wire half a million dollars into an offshore account in your name tonight, along with two clean passports to Zurich."
Clara gripped the cold iron balcony railing. "In exchange for what?"
"Nothing violent," Viktor said softly. "You’re inside the sanctuary now. Every night at midnight, Dante takes a call in his private study from his captains at the port. On his desk is a small silver flash drive containing the dynamic routing schedules for his ships. Plug it into the charging port of the phone you’re holding right now for ten seconds. That’s all."
"And if I tell you to go to hell?"
May you like
"Then Maya doesn't make it to her evening shift," Viktor said pleasantly. "And once I’m done with her, I’ll remind you how fragile your brother’s other knee is. You have until midnight, Clara."
The line went dead. When Clara turned around, Dante was standing right behind the glass door, watching her with unreadable dark eyes.
