Chapter 8 - An Unholy Alliance: Larkin and I Draw the Line in the Shadows of Manhattan
By 1:00 AM, Larkin’s primary strike force, led by his trusted commander Marcus, had secured the hotel and eliminated the remaining Castiglione assassins. The penthouse was ruined, but the war for New York had officially begun.
I stood by the shattered floor-to-ceiling window, looking out over the glittering lights of Manhattan as the cold night wind whipped through my espresso bob. My gown was torn at the hem, my bare feet were covered in soot, but I had never felt more alive.
Larkin walked up behind me, draping his heavy woolen tuxedo jacket over my bare shoulders. The warmth of his body radiated against mine.
"The Castigliones made their move because they thought I was weak," Larkin said quietly, staring out at the city below. "They thought my focus was slipping. They didn't know I was building an impenetrable fortress because you were managing my foundations."
"They have fifty men waiting at the Brooklyn naval yard," I said, pointing toward the dark waters of the East River. "That’s where the real cargo is. Not the train. The train was a decoy."
Larkin turned to me, his brow furrowed. "How do you know that?"
"Because Victor Vance’s old ledger, the one I took the night he died, contained a secret sublease for Warehouse 14 at the Brooklyn Navy Yard. Don Castiglione didn't just try to kill you tonight, Larkin. He’s the one who ordered my father’s execution ten years ago. He used Vance as a puppet."
May you like
Larkin reached out, his gloved hand gently cupping my cheek, turning my face toward his. His pale blue eyes were burning with a solemn, unbreakable vow.
"Then we don't just defend our territory tonight, Penelope," he whispered, his voice dark and commanding. "Tonight, we wipe the Castiglione name off the face of the earth. Together."
Related Stories
