Chapter 5 - The Guest in Suite Four
The guest suite on the upper level of the Castellano penthouse looked less like a temporary room and more like a five-star boutique hotel designed by an architect with a severe minimalist fetish. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the rain-drenched Manhattan skyline, though heavy blackout curtains currently blocked out the neon glare of the city. A king-sized bed draped in crisp white Egyptian cotton sat against a charcoal-gray accent wall, and a gleaming marble bathroom awaited just beyond a set of frosted glass sliding doors.
Nina sat on the edge of the mattress, still wearing her stained black catering vest and trousers. She stared at her hands, which still smelled faintly of gunsmoke, red pepper sauce, and wet dog fur.
A soft knock sounded at the heavy oak door. Before she could answer, it clicked open, and Lorenzo stepped into the room. He had changed into a fresh, unwrinkled white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing lean, corded muscles and a faint, jagged scar across his left wrist.
“Rocco has secured the perimeter,” Lorenzo said quietly, closing the door behind him. “The local police precinct received an anonymous tip about a gas leak in the commercial building across the street, so any noise from earlier has been officially categorized as a municipal emergency. The bodies of Petrov’s men are currently being processed through our... private channels.”
Nina didn't look up. “Disposed of?”
“Handled,” Lorenzo corrected neutrally. He walked over to the small wet bar in the corner of the suite, poured a glass of still water from a crystal pitcher, and set it on the nightstand beside her. “You haven’t touched your water.”
“I’m not thirsty,” Nina murmured.
“You’re in shock, Miss Vasquez. That is entirely normal after watching two professional hitmen get dismantled in your employer’s dining room.” Lorenzo pulled a sleek leather chair over from the desk, turned it backward, and straddled it, resting his chin on his folded arms as he looked at her. “You’re wondering if you made a massive mistake.”
“I’m wondering how my normal, boring, miserable life as a catering assistant somehow turned into an action movie in less than twelve hours,” Nina replied, finally raising her eyes to meet his amber-brown gaze. “And I’m wondering why you’re keeping me here instead of just paying me to keep my mouth shut and sending me back to Queens.”
Lorenzo was quiet for a long moment. The amber light from the bedside lamp caught the sharp planes of his face, softening the harsh lines of authority that usually defined him.
“Because,” Lorenzo said softly, “in my world, people who know secrets either end up in the river or on my payroll. And as I established earlier, you are entirely too stubborn for the river.” He paused, a faint, dry smile touching the corner of his mouth. “Besides, Ghost hasn’t left the hallway outside your door since I brought him up here. If I tried to move you, the dog would likely chew through my reinforced steel door in under twenty minutes.”
True to his word, a low, muffled thump sounded against the wooden door behind Lorenzo, followed by the familiar, heavy scratch of claws against the floorboards as Ghost settled in for a long night of guarding his lost world.
Nina felt a strange, tight knot in her chest loosen just a fraction. For six years, she had believed she was entirely alone in the city, carrying the grief of a stolen companion like an invisible anchor. Now, sitting in the heart of a mafia boss’s stronghold with a multi-million-dollar war brewing outside, she felt safer than she had in years—not because of Lorenzo Castellano or his armed guards, but because outside that door, her dog was waiting.
“What happens tomorrow?” Nina asked, her voice steadying.
“Tomorrow,” Lorenzo said, standing up and walking toward the door, “we find out how much Nikolai Petrov knows about your connection to the dog. And we figure out how to ensure that neither of you ever has to look over your shoulder again.”
He paused with his hand on the brass doorknob, looking back over his shoulder.
May you like
“Get some sleep, Miss Vasquez. The real work starts at dawn.”
The door clicked shut, leaving Nina alone in the quiet warmth of the suite. Outside, the rain continued to fall, washing the streets of Manhattan clean, while in the hallway beyond, a scarred Rottweiler let out a deep, steady sigh of contentment against the wood.
