Chapter 7 - Whispers in the Dark
My breath hitched in my throat. I pressed my back hard against the wall beside the window, my hands trembling as I searched the dark room for anything I could use as a weapon. There was nothing—only heavy lamps and decorative vases.
Click.
The sound of the brass doorknob turning slowly from the outside.
Whoever was out there knew the security lights were down, but they didn't know I was awake. The heavy bolt I had thrown into place held firm, creating a sharp metallic grating noise as the intruder tried to force the handle down.
“Aurora,” a low, urgent voice hissed through the wood.
It wasn't Michael. It was a woman’s voice—smooth, polished, and edged with sharp panic.
Eleanor.
I crept across the carpet on silent feet, my hand hovering over the lock. “Eleanor? What are you doing?”
“Open this door right now, you absolute fool!” Eleanor whispered fiercely, rattling the handle again. “The western gate code was overridden from an internal terminal. They bypassed our primary grid in under ten seconds. They aren't looking for money, and they aren't looking for Michael—they’re looking for the girl the boss brought home tonight!”
My blood ran cold. The intruders weren't random street thugs or stray debt collectors sent by Tony. They were a targeted extraction team, and they had come here specifically because of me.
“Why?” I whispered, pressing my lips close to the gap in the door. “Who sent them?”
“Open the door, Aurora, and I’ll tell you before they blow the hinges!” Eleanor’s voice cracked, the aristocratic composure completely shattered.
I threw the bolt and yanked the door open.
Eleanor tumbled into the dark room, her designer pantsuit rumpled, her hair falling out of its perfect bun. She slammed the door shut behind her and threw the deadbolt herself, sliding down against the wood with a sharp, ragged gasp.
“Listen to me very carefully,” Eleanor said, grabbing my wrist with cold, shaking fingers. “Your father didn't just leave behind medical debt when he died two years ago, Aurora. He left a ledger. A complete, unredacted accounting of every shell company, kickback, and laundering channel the Moretti syndicate used to build this empire over the last three decades.”
I stared at her in total shock. “My father? He was an accountant for a small firm in Queens!”
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“Your father was Michael’s chief financial architect before he tried to walk away and take the master drive with him,” Eleanor hissed, her eyes wide with terror in the moonlight. “And the men out in those gardens right now aren't enemies trying to kill us—they’re a clean-up crew sent by our own board members to ensure that master drive never sees the light of day. And they know you have it.”
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