Chapter 1 - The Ledger and the Mark
The ambient hum of the Brooklyn tavern seemed to drop an octave. Around them, the low murmur of late-night drinkers continued, oblivious to the small circle of gravity holding Rowan and the man in the charcoal suit.
Rowan stared at him, her chest tight against the dull ache of her bruised rib. “I thought he was a petty gambler,” she said, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “He told me he owed some bookies in Queens. He cried about it, Julian—if that’s even your name.”
“It is,” the man said, his gaze never leaving her face. “And David wasn’t just playing poker, Rowan. The thirty thousand dollars in rent and savings he drained from your account? That was pocket change compared to what he lifted from my desk on Monday night.”
“What did he take?”
Julian Vance leaned back against the dark wood of the booth, resting one hand on the polished table. His fingers were long, manicured, completely devoid of the nervous fidgeting typical of men who dealt in threats. “A notebook. Bound in black leather, no larger than a paperback, filled with names, dates, and account numbers that took twenty years to compile. It isn’t digital. There are no backups on a cloud server. If it leaks, half the commercial real estate board in Manhattan goes under, and my organization absorbs billions in liability.”
Rowan let out a dry, humorless laugh. “David can barely assemble an IKEA bookshelf without crying. How did he get into your office?”
“That is precisely what we are going to find out,” Vance said smoothly. He reached into his jacket, pulled out a slim platinum card, and slid it across the sticky tabletop. A set of embossed numbers caught the dim amber light. “Tommy Russo is my lieutenant. Or he was, until he took it upon himself to freelance using my crest. Which means Tommy either helped David, or he’s looking to carve out a kingdom of his own.”
Rowan looked down at the card, then back at the red stamp on the paper scrap clutched in her fist—the snake coiled around a dagger. The ink was still faintly glossy.
“If Tommy works for you, why am I sitting here?” Rowan asked, her spine straightening. “Why aren’t you out looking for your ledger instead of interrogating a girl who just found out her boyfriend of three years used her as a human shield?”
“Because,” Vance said softly, “Tommy’s phones are burning out in the Atlantic, and his apartment is empty. But David left one thing behind when he cleared out your apartment on Tuesday morning.”
Rowan froze. “What?”
“A luggage check stub from Penn Station, dated Monday at midnight. It fell between your couch cushions. My men found it an hour ago. You’re the only person in New York who knows the habits, the favorite diners, and the pathetic alias David uses when he’s terrified.” Vance’s dark eyes locked onto hers with terrifying clarity. “Help me find him, Rowan. The thirty-thousand-dollar debt vanishes tonight. And I’ll make sure the men who pounded on your door never look at your neighborhood again.”
“And if I say no?”
“You already have seven dollars in your wallet, a cracked rib, and two professionals sitting in a sedan outside who think you’re holding out on them,” Vance replied without a hint of malice. “You don’t have a no, Rowan. You have a choice of how fast you want this to end.”
May you like
She stared at the platinum card. Her whole life had unraveled in ninety-six hours, and now she was being drafted into a silent war she didn't understand. Slowly, deliberately, she reached out and picked up the card.
---
