Chapter 3
The midnight air hit Emma like a wall of ice as she stepped out the rear alley of Bellanova.
Usually, the brick alleyway was quiet, lit only by a flickering yellow sodium streetlamp.
Tonight, the shadows felt deeper.
More alive.
She clutched her canvas book bag tightly against her chest, her law textbooks serving as a makeshift shield.
Her sneakers echoed sharply against the wet concrete.
She checked over her shoulder twice.
Nothing.
Just rain dripping from rusted fire escapes.
She turned the corner onto Fifty-Fourth Street, heading toward the subway entrance.
A pair of headlights cut through the heavy downpour.
A matte-black sedan slid silently to the curb beside her.
Before she could run, the rear passenger door flew open.
Two large men in dark raincoats stepped out instantly.
Strong hands gripped her arms before she could scream.
“Get in,” a gravelly voice commanded.
Emma kicked backward, connecting hard with someone’s shin.
“Let go of me!” she yelled, thrashing against her captors.
The second man grabbed her waist and hoisted her effortlessly off the ground.
They shoved her into the leather-lined interior of the car.
The door slammed shut with a heavy, muffled thud.
The sedan accelerated into the Manhattan night before she could even catch her breath.
In the center of the spacious back seat sat a man with dark hair silvered at the temples.
The gray eyes were unmistakable.
It was the stranger from Table Twelve.
He wore the same charcoal suit, now dry, and rested his hands calmly on the handle of an ebony cane.
“You have terrible manners for a law student, Miss Parker,” the man said smoothly.
Emma pressed herself flat against the opposite door, her breathing ragged.
“Who are you?” she demanded, her voice shaking despite her best efforts. “What do you want with me?”
The man offered a faint, humorless smile.
“My name is Dante Vance,” he said quietly. “And you just stepped directly into the crosshairs of a war.”
Emma stared at him, the pieces clicking together with terrifying speed.
Dante Vance.
The name whispered in hushed tones across New York boardrooms and precinct roll calls alike.
The man the federal government had spent a decade trying to pin down.
“I saved your life,” Emma whispered, her eyes wide. “That’s how you repay me? By kidnapping me?”
“You didn't just save my life,” Dante replied, his gray eyes narrowing as he leaned forward. “You intercepted a high-frequency assassination hit meant to destabilize half of Manhattan. And now, the men who hired Leo are hunting both of us.”
The car veered sharply, tires screeching against the wet pavement as it entered a subterranean parking garage beneath an unmarked concrete high-rise.
Dante’s phone buzzed on the console.
He glanced at the screen, and for the first time, his composed mask slipped.
“We’re compromised,” Dante muttered.
Before the car could even put it in park, a massive explosion rocked the upper levels of the garage.
Concrete pillars cracked.
Alarms wailed through the darkness.
May you like
Dante grabbed Emma’s wrist.
“Run!” he shouted.
