Chapter 2 - The Man Who Had Been Protecting Her From a Distance
Nora arrived home at 12:21 a.m.
Her apartment was small, warm, and almost painfully ordinary.
Two bedrooms.
A narrow living room.
A secondhand couch.
A bookshelf full of cookbooks and novels.
A collection of ceramic mugs.
No marble.
No security.
No luxury.
She preferred it that way.
The cake sat on the kitchen counter.
She had carried the entire box home.
She should have thrown it away.
Instead, she placed it carefully in the refrigerator.
Then she stared at herself in the dark window.
Thirty-two.
Single.
Working sixty hours a week.
Her sister had forgotten.
Her mother had forgotten.
Her father was dead.
And the most dangerous man in Chicago had remembered.
Nora laughed softly.
“You're losing your mind.”
Her phone rang.
Claire.
Nora almost ignored it.
She answered.
“Hey.”
“Did you get home?”
“Yes.”
“I'm sorry about today.”
“It's okay.”
“No, really. I feel awful.”
Nora sat down.
“You don't have to.”
“Did you do anything?”
Nora glanced toward the refrigerator.
“Someone brought me a cake.”
Claire sounded surprised.
“Who?”
“Adrian Vale.”
Silence.
Then Claire laughed.
“No.”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“Wait. Adrian Vale?”
“Yes.”
“The Adrian Vale?”
“How many are there?”
“You're joking.”
“I wish.”
“How does he even know your birthday?”
Nora stared at the refrigerator.
“I don't know.”
Claire's voice softened.
“Nora, be careful.”
“I know.”
“I'm serious.”
“So am I.”
“Men like that don't do things for no reason.”
Nora looked at the cake.
“Maybe he was just being nice.”
Claire laughed.
“Adrian Vale does not do nice.”
The call ended.
Nora went to bed.
She didn't sleep.
At 2:08 a.m., she heard a car outside.
She got up.
A black sedan waited across the street.
She pulled the curtain aside.
The car remained for twenty seconds.
Then drove away.
Nora's heart raced.
She told herself it meant nothing.
She was wrong.
Across the city, Adrian sat inside that sedan.
Gabriel drove.
“You should tell her.”
“No.”
“She deserves to know.”
“She deserves to have a normal life.”
Gabriel looked at him through the mirror.
“She doesn't have one.”
Adrian's jaw tightened.
“Not yet.”
“You know they found her.”
“I know.”
“You can't keep this hidden forever.”
“I only need to keep it hidden until I find the ledger.”
Gabriel said nothing.
The ledger.
The reason everything had started.
Twelve years earlier, Nora's father, Daniel Bell, had been a senior accountant for one of Adrian's father's legitimate businesses.
Daniel discovered a secret network of payments connecting Chicago's most powerful criminal families.
He copied everything.
Names.
Accounts.
Properties.
Bribes.
Judges.
Police officers.
Politicians.
Then he disappeared.
Officially, Daniel Bell had died in a boating accident.
Adrian had never believed it.
Neither had Daniel's old friend, Adrian's father.
For years, Adrian searched for the missing ledger.
Then he found a single clue.
Nora.
Daniel had left her a coded message.
Not directly.
Inside a recipe.
A pistachio cake.
Adrian didn't know why.
But the recipe contained numbers.
Account numbers.
Dates.
Coordinates.
He spent eleven months quietly watching Nora.
She didn't know.
She lived an ordinary life.
She worked.
Paid rent.
Called her mother.
Visited her sister.
Made pastries.
And every Sunday, she walked to the same cemetery.
Daniel Bell's grave.
Adrian had watched from a distance.
He had expected to find the ledger.
Instead he had found something much more dangerous.
A woman he cared about.
He never intended to care.
That was the problem.
At 8:05 the next morning, Nora received a letter.
No return address.
Inside was a photograph.
Her father.
Standing beside a younger version of Adrian's father.
And behind them, a third man.
Victor Kane.
Chicago businessman.
Adrian's greatest enemy.
On the back of the photograph:
Ask Adrian why your father trusted him.
Nora's hands went cold.
She called Adrian.
He answered immediately.
“What happened?”
“How do you have my number?”
“You called my office last year about the charity auction.”
“I found something.”
“Where are you?”
“My apartment.”
“Lock the door.”
“Adrian—”
“Do it now.”
She did.
Five minutes later, he arrived.
He entered with Gabriel.
Nora held out the photograph.
Adrian's face changed.
“Where did you get this?”
“Someone mailed it.”
He looked at her.
“What else was inside?”
“Nothing.”
He studied the photograph.
“Your father never trusted Victor Kane.”
“Then why is he standing with him?”
“Because sometimes you stand beside your enemy so they don't know you're afraid.”
Nora looked directly at him.
“You knew my father.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Adrian hesitated.
“He worked for my father.”
“You knew he died.”
“I knew the official story.”
“You don't believe it.”
“No.”
She stared.
“You've been watching me.”
Adrian said nothing.
“That wasn't a question.”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Eleven months.”
Her face changed.
“Why?”
“I wanted to keep you safe.”
“From what?”
“People looking for something your father hid.”
Nora stepped backward.
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“You knew my father was involved in something dangerous.”
“Yes.”
“And you never told me.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
She laughed bitterly.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The sentence everyone uses before lying.”
Adrian's expression softened.
“I didn't lie about the important part.”
“What important part?”
“I never forgot your birthday.”
The room went silent.
Nora hated the way her heart reacted.
Adrian stepped closer.
“The cake wasn't a trick.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I don't need your trust today.”
“What do you need?”
“I need you alive.”
Nora's eyes filled.
“Why me?”
Adrian looked at the photograph.
“Because your father trusted you.”
“He didn't leave me anything.”
“He did.”
“What?”
Adrian looked at her.
“A choice.”
Before Nora could ask what that meant, someone fired through the apartment window.
Glass exploded.
Adrian moved faster than she had ever seen anyone move.
He pulled Nora behind the kitchen wall.
Gabriel drew his weapon.
Another shot.
Then silence.
Nora's breathing became ragged.
Adrian held her shoulders.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Baby?”
She almost laughed at the absurdity.
“There is no baby.”
“Good.”
He looked toward the shattered window.
Then back at her.
“It starts now.”
May you like
“What starts?”
“The truth.”
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