Chapter 2 - The Logic of Ghosts
Victor did not panic. Panic was for people without leverage, and Victor Rinaldi owned half the leverage in the Midwest.
He walked back to the foyer and picked up the landline handset. “Luca,” he said the instant his chief of security answered. “Boss? It’s five in the morning—” “Nora is gone. The twins are gone.”
A pause crackled over the secure line. The wind shrieked against the penthouse glass. “Gone where?” Luca asked, his voice instantly sharpening into tactical focus. “Did someone breach the perimeter?” “No. She walked out.” “Walked out? In a blizzard? With two premies?” “Check the garage,” Victor ordered, his jaw tightening so hard the bone ached. “Check which vehicle is missing. Check every toll plaza, every traffic camera, every private flight manifest out of Midway and O’Hare. Do it now.”
While Luca scrambled, Victor walked through the empty nursery again.
He touched the edge of Leo’s crib. The metal felt ice cold. How long had she been planning this? He thought back over the last month. The quiet dinners where Nora sat across from him, stirring her soup, answering in short, polite sentences. He had assumed she was just sleep-deprived. She had nearly died delivering the twins six weeks early; her body had been weak, her eyes shadowed. He had bought her flowers—white roses, her favorite—and wondered why she looked at them as if they were bill collectors.
Because I was buying absolution with petals, he realized with sudden, brutal clarity.
The phone buzzed in his pocket. It wasn't Luca. It was a local burner number. Victor answered on the first ring. “Victor,” a smooth, overly sweet voice whispered. “I saw the news. Or, well, I didn't see you at the apartment when I called. Are you okay, darling?” Sylvia.
He stared at the window, watching the snow bury the Chicago skyline. “Don't ever call this number again,” Victor said. “What? Victor, wait—is this because of her? She’s probably just visiting her mother or—” He hung up. He didn't block the number; he simply removed the SIM card from his phone, cracked it in half with his thumb, and dropped it into the wastebasket.
The door to the master suite creaked. Luca stood in the threshold, looking older than his fifty years, holding a tablet against his chest like a shield. “Boss,” Luca said quietly. “The garage. The Volvo SUV is gone.” “Good. Track the toll transponder.” “It’s dead. We pulled the feed from the subterranean exit. She didn't use the transponder. She rolled the car out manually into the alley before she started the engine. There’s no electronic ping.”
Victor’s eyes narrowed. “She bypassed the building’s automated security log?” “She had the master garage code, boss,” Luca reminded him gently. “You gave it to her when she brought the twins home from the NICU so she wouldn't have to carry the carrier and fumble with the keypad.”
May you like
Victor walked to the window, staring down into the white abyss of the storm. She had lived in his shadow for four years. She had watched him handle enemies, negotiate million-dollar port deals, and manage a city without raising his voice. And in the quiet corners of that life, she had learned his security protocols better than his own men.
“She’s heading north,” Victor said. “North?” Luca frowned. “In a blizzard? To where? Her parents are dead. She has no family in Wisconsin or Michigan.” “She has a bank account,” Victor said, remembering the financial independence he had insisted she maintain, thinking it made him look modern and generous. “And she has a mind that just outmaneuvered every watchdog I have on payroll.”
