Chapter 5 - Unholy Alliances
By midnight, the warehouse was locked down. Narin had cleaned and bandaged Declan’s shoulder with the medical supplies stored in the safehouse armory. She had even managed to find a clean black shirt in a supply crate and tossed it onto his lap.
Declan sat in his wheelchair near the glowing banks of monitors, his shirt unbuttoned, exposing his broad, scarred chest and the tight white bandage wrapped around his left shoulder.
A secure video call clicked open on the main screen.
The face of Lucian, Declan’s second-in-command for street operations, appeared. Lucian looked battered, his tie loosened, a cut over his eye.
"Boss!" Lucian breathed, relief washing over his weathered face. "God almighty, we thought you were dead! Victor announced at the round table that the Rossys took you out."
"Victor is a dead man walking," Declan said, his voice dropping into a register that made the hairs on Narin's neck stand up. "Where is Marco Rossy right now?"
"He's taken over the Grand Palace Casino," Lucian reported quickly. "He called a meeting of all the district bosses for tomorrow night. He’s planning to declare himself the head of the syndicate. And Boss... Victor put a half-million-dollar bounty on a woman seen leaving the estate with you. A maid named Narin."
Narin, who was pouring hot water from a kettle into a plastic mug, froze.
Declan’s head snapped toward the screen. The air in the room instantly plummeted below freezing.
"Repeat that," Declan said softly.
"Marco thinks she's the key to finding your safehouse," Lucian explained. "They're scrubbing city traffic cameras right now. Her face is on every underground burner phone in New York."
Declan’s hand tightened on his armrest until the leather creaked. "Tell Lucian to gather the shadow crew. Every loyal gun we have left. We move tomorrow night."
"To take back the estate?" Lucian asked.
"No," Declan said, his eyes shifting toward Narin, who was standing still by the counter, holding the steaming mug. "To burn the Grand Palace to the ground."
Declan cut the transmission.
The safehouse fell back into silence. Narin walked over slowly, placing the mug of tea on the steel table beside his keyboard.
"A half-million dollars," she said, her voice trembling slightly despite her best efforts. "My head is worth more than my student loans, my rent, and my entire life combined."
Declan reached out, his long fingers closing around her wrist—not with force, but with a firm, grounding presence.
"Nobody touches you," Declan said, his voice absolute, like a holy vow written in steel. "They hit my home. They shot at my men. But putting a price on your head, Narin? That was Marco Rossy's final mistake."
Narin looked down at his hand on her wrist. The warmth of his skin radiated through her pulse.
May you like
"I'm scared, Declan," she admitted softly, dropping the formal title for the first time.
Declan pulled her slightly closer, looking up into her dark eyes. "Good. Fear keeps you alive. Courage is just fear that has learned how to walk." He paused, his grip softening. "Stay close to me. As long as you are beside me, the entire city can come for us, and they will fail."
