Chapter 3 - The Midnight Ride
The fallout inside the Meridian Club was instantaneous and chaotic.
Victoria’s shrill, hysterical shrieks echoed down the forty-first-floor corridor as Arthur Sterling frantically scrambled to collect the shredded pieces of the contract, his face purple with a mixture of rage and terror. The corporate executives and bankers were already scrambling for their coats, desperate to clear the room before the Moretti syndicate’s enforcers locked down the elevators.
Dela did not wait to watch the carnage.
She turned on her heel, slipping through the service doors into the stainless-steel kitchen, her breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. Her hands, which had remained steady for ten minutes in front of thirty billionaires, were now trembling uncontrollably. She stripped off her apron, hanging it on the hook beside the employee lockers, her heart hammering against her ribs.
She had exposed the lie. She had named the corporation that killed Elias. But in doing so, she had painted a massive, glowing target on her back and on the child growing beneath her heart.
Arthur Sterling owned judges, municipal inspectors, and private security contractors. If he realized who she was—and what she knew—she wouldn't survive the walk back to her apartment on the West Side.
Dela grabbed her worn wool coat from her locker, wrapped it tightly around her waist to hide her stomach, and pushed through the rear service exit into the freezing alley behind the tower.
The winter sleet hit her face like needles.
The alley was dark, narrow, smelling of wet asphalt and commercial exhaust. Dela pulled her collar up, her taped shoes squelching against the slush as she moved hurriedly toward the public transit station on State Street.
Headlights cut through the sleet behind her.
A massive, armored black Mercedes Maybach rolled silently into the alley, its engine purring with a low, deep baritone.
The vehicle accelerated smoothly, sliding sideways across the ice to block the mouth of the alley thirty feet ahead of her.
Dela stopped dead. Her hand instinctively moved beneath her coat, curling protectively over her lower abdomen. She reached into her pocket, her fingers closing around the cold steel of a heavy screwdriver she had taken from the kitchen maintenance drawer.
The rear door of the Maybach clicked open.
Marcus Vance—Julian Moretti’s chief of private security, a broad-shouldered veteran with cropped gray hair and cold, calculating eyes—stepped out into the freezing rain, holding a massive black umbrella.
"Mrs. Hawthorne," Marcus said, his voice flat, professional, and devoid of hostility. "Mr. Moretti requested that you not attempt to ride the blue line tonight. It is twenty-two degrees, and Arthur Sterling has already dispatched three vehicles to your registered address on Pulaski Road."
Dela’s jaw tightened. "Tell Mr. Moretti that I can look after myself. I don't need syndicate protection."
"You have a child to think about, Mrs. Hawthorne," another voice spoke from the interior of the car.
The shadow inside the rear passenger compartment shifted.
Julian Moretti stepped out onto the wet asphalt, ignoring the rain that instantly darkened the shoulders of his charcoal suit. He stood tall in the narrow alley, his presence instantly shrinking the space between the brick walls.
He looked at her worn boots. He looked at the silver tape holding the right sole together.
"Your apartment is already compromised, Delilah," Julian said, his deep baritone rolling through the freezing air. "Arthur’s men kicked your front door off its hinges four minutes ago. If you go back there, you leave in a body bag."
"And if I get in your car?" Dela challenged, her amber eyes blazing in the halogen glare of the headlights. "What am I to you, Julian? A witness? A tool to take down the Sterling empire? Another line item on your balance sheet?"
Julian held her gaze through the falling sleet.
"Elias Hawthorne died trying to protect my docks from Sterling’s poison, Delilah," Julian said softly, every word carrying the unyielding density of granite. "I owe him a debt that forty million dollars cannot settle.
You saved my freedom tonight in that dining room.
I don't leave my debts unpaid.
Get in the car.
Before my child catches a chill."
Dela froze.
Her breath hitched in her throat, her eyes widening in sudden, disoriented shock.
May you like
My child.
Julian did not wait for her to recover. He stepped forward, his large, warm hand gently taking her arm, guiding her out of the freezing sleet into the heated, leather-scented sanctuary of the Maybach.
