Chapter 3 - The Price of Loyalty
The sun rose over Queens in shades of bruised orange and pale gray.
Nora stood in the cramped kitchen of her family’s railroad apartment, watching her younger brother, Leo, swallow a handful of vitamins. The apartment smelled of stale radiator heat, cheap coffee, and the lavender soap Nora used to wash her uniforms.
"You look like death, Nora," Leo said, setting down his glass of milk. He was seventeen, tall, lanky, and possessed the sharp, protective instincts of a boy who had grown up without a father. "You're working too much. First the catering gig, now this rich lady out in Long Island?"
"The rich lady pays well, Leo," Nora said, adjusting his collar. She handed him a folded stack of twenty-dollar bills. "Take this. Pay Mr. Henderson for the back rent, and buy yourself those new shoes for track practice."
Leo looked at the money, his brow furrowing. "Where did you get this much cash? Nora... you aren't doing anything dangerous, are you?"
"I'm taking care of an old woman with memory loss, Leo," she lied smoothly, though her conscience pricked her. "It's hard work, but it's clean."
Clean. The word felt hollow in her mouth. She thought of the blood on the marble floor three weeks ago, and the silver dagger Vincent had carried back into the house last night. Nothing about the Russo family was clean. But it was keeping her family alive.
"I have to go," Nora said, grabbing her coat. "The driver is downstairs."
"Driver?" Leo followed her to the door. "Since when do you have a driver?"
"Since the employer insisted on security," she said, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Lock the door behind me, Leo. Don't open it for anyone."
When Nora stepped out onto the asphalt of the Queens street, a sleek black sedan was idling at the curb. Standing by the rear door was not one of Vincent’s usual muscle-bound guards, but Paulie himself.
The underboss was wearing a immaculate tailored gray coat, his hands folded neatly in front of him. When he saw Nora, he opened the rear door.
"Morning, Miss Hayes," Paulie said politely.
Nora hesitated, looking around the quiet neighborhood. A few neighbors were walking toward the subway station, eyeing the luxury vehicle with suspicion. "Mr. Russo sent you personally?"
"The Don wanted to ensure your commute was... uninterrupted," Paulie replied, his tone neutral. "Get in. We have a brief stop to make before we head back to the estate."
Nora climbed into the plush leather interior. The car smelled of fresh leather and high-end cigars. As Paulie slipped into the front passenger seat and the car pulled away from the curb, Nora looked out the rear window.
A gray van that had been parked across the street pulled out slowly, following them at a distance.
"Paulie," Nora said, her voice tight. "We have company."
Paulie didn't even turn around. He simply looked in the side mirror. "I know. It’s been following your building since three this morning."
Nora’s blood ran cold. "My brother is still in that apartment."
"Relax, Miss Hayes," Paulie said calmly. "Two of our best men are currently sitting in a bakery across from your building. If anyone so much as looks at your front door, they won't live long enough to regret it. Vincent doesn't leave loose ends when it comes to people under his protection."
Under his protection. The words lingered in the air, heavy and loaded.
The sedan didn't head toward Long Island. Instead, it navigated the concrete arteries of Manhattan, pulling into the private subterranean garage of an exclusive midtown high-rise.
The car stopped beside a private elevator.
"Up to the penthouse," Paulie said, opening her door. "The Don is waiting for you."
Nora stepped into the elevator. The mirrored walls reflected her appearance: simple dark trousers, a wool sweater, and a plain coat. She looked utterly out of place in this world of polished chrome and obsidian glass, yet she held her head high as the elevator whirred silently upward.
When the doors slid open, she stepped into an expanse of minimalist luxury. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking, panoramic view of the Manhattan skyline.
Vincent was standing near a dark walnut desk, holding a glass of black coffee. He had swapped his tuxedo for a sharp charcoal suit that accentuated his broad shoulders and commanding stature.
"Nora," Vincent said, setting his coffee down. "Thank you for coming here first."
"Where is Camila?" Nora asked immediately, ignoring the grandeur of the room. "Is she alright?"
"She’s fine. She’s with her morning medical staff at the estate. I had you brought here because we needed to talk before you went back."
Vincent walked toward her, his heavy steps measured. He stopped a few feet away, his gaze sweeping over her face, searching for any sign of fear.
"Beatrice Gallow sent men to your apartment building last night," Vincent said directly. "They were establishing your routines. Finding out if you had family."
Nora felt a chill run down her spine, but she kept her voice steady. "I know. Paulie showed me."
"I took care of the immediate threat," Vincent continued, his voice dropping. "But as long as Beatrice feels she can use you to get to me, your life in Queens is over. You cannot go back to that apartment, Nora."
"What?" Nora’s eyes widened. "My brother lives there! My life is there!"
"Your brother will be moved today," Vincent stated smoothly, as if arranging chess pieces on a board. "I’ve already secured a private, gated apartment near Columbia University. He will be transferred there under round-the-clock guard. His tuition, his living expenses—everything will be fully funded by my foundation."
"You can't just uproot my family, Vincent!" Nora snapped, stepping closer to him, her anger flaring. "You don't own us!"
"I am saving your life!" Vincent roared, his calm mask shattering for a fraction of a second. The raw power in his voice rattled the glass windows, making Nora jump slightly.
He stepped into her space, towering over her, his breathing heavy.
"Do you have any idea what Beatrice Gallow does to people who displease her?" Vincent whispered, his eyes dark with an intense, burning fury. "She doesn't just kill you, Nora. She takes apart everything you love, piece by piece, until you beg her for death. I will not let her do that to you. I will not let her touch a single hair on your head!"
Nora stared up at him, her chest heaving. She saw the desperation behind his fury—a desperation born not of control, but of a fierce, terrifying need to protect her.
"Why?" Nora asked softly, her anger ebbing away, replaced by a deep, confusing heat in her chest. "Why do you care so much about a maid from Queens?"
Vincent stared down at her, his dark eyes searching hers. The silence between them stretched, thick with unspoken emotions. He reached out, his hand hovering near her cheek before his fingers gently brushed against the soft fabric of her collar.
"Because in a world full of people who would kill me for a dollar, you were the only one who knelt in broken glass to protect my mother," Vincent said, his voice husky and filled with raw emotion. "You are not just a maid, Nora. Not to me."
Nora swallowed hard. The proximity between them was intoxicating. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the rich scent of cedarwood and espresso clinging to his skin.
"Vincent..." she whispered.
Before he could answer, the elevator doors chimed and opened.
Paulie stepped out, holding an encrypted tablet. He froze, taking in the scene—Vincent standing inches from Nora, his hand touching her neck. Paulie cleared his throat awkwardly.
"Boss," Paulie said. "We have a situation at the docks. Carmine Gallow just landed a shipment of arms at Pier 42. He's trying to push into our territory before sunset."
Vincent slowly lowered his hand, his eyes never leaving Nora’s face. The soft, vulnerable man vanished, replaced once again by the ruthless Don of New York.
"Move her things to the estate," Vincent ordered Paulie, his voice cold as steel. "Nora will be staying in the primary suite of the east wing from now on. Put extra men on the doors."
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"Vincent, wait—" Nora began.
"It's non-negotiable, Nora," Vincent said, turning to walk toward his desk. He picked up a heavy black holster and strapped it around his shoulder. "Until Carmine and Beatrice Gallow are dead, you don't leave my sight."
