Chapter 2 - Cold Arithmetic
The sound of David’s gasp was choked off by the heavy leather of Andrew’s gloved hand tightening around his throat. Wall plaster rained down around them, white dust settling on the broad shoulders of Andrew’s drenched tailored suit.
David’s hands clawed futilely at Andrew’s forearm, his fingernails scraping against expensive Italian wool, but Andrew didn't feel it. He felt nothing except the volcanic rage roaring in his ears and the icy, methodical clarity that always settled over him when a target needed to be erased.
"Boss," Lucas said from the broken window sill, his voice flat, devoid of panic. He didn't raise his weapon at David; there was no need. Andrew’s grip was a death sentence on its own. "Building's quiet. No neighbors in the hall yet, but the glass breaking was loud. We have four minutes before someone calls the precinct."
Andrew didn't look at Lucas. His eyes were locked on David, whose face was rapidly turning a dark, mottled purple, his bloodshot eyes bulging with the terror of a man who had suddenly realized he had stepped off a cliff into the dark.
"Did you touch her?" Andrew asked. His voice wasn't raised. It was a low, vibrating whisper, colder than the freezing rain outside.
David made a gurgling sound, his eyes flicking toward the heavy wooden bat lying forgotten on the blood-spattered carpet.
Andrew’s grip tightened until he felt the delicate cartilage in David’s throat strain. "I asked you a question."
"Andrew... please."
The sound of Cindy’s voice cut through the crimson haze in Andrew’s mind like a silver blade.
He didn't release David, but his head turned slowly.
Cindy was still huddled in the corner between the overturned bookcase and the wall, shivering violently. Her knees were pulled up to her chest, her hands wrapped tightly around her arms as if trying to hold herself together. Blood trickled from a nasty gash along her hairline, mixing with tears and smearing across her pale skin. Her blouse was torn at the shoulder, revealing bruised, delicate bone.
She was staring at Andrew. Not with fear of him, but with the hollow, shattered shock of someone whose reality had been torn apart in seconds.
The sight of her blood did something strange to Andrew’s chest. It felt like a physical blow, a sudden vacuum of air that made his ribs ache.
He turned back to David.
"Lucas," Andrew growled.
"Yeah?"
"Take him down to the docks. Put him in holding cellar three. Don't let him die until I get there."
"Got it," Lucas replied smoothly. He stepped forward, grabbed David by the back of his collar, and delivered a precise, crushing blow with the butt of his Glock to the base of David’s skull. David went limp instantly. Lucas dragged the heavy man toward the hallway door like a sack of wet laundry, pausing at the threshold. "What about the apartment?"
"Clean it tomorrow. Burn the carpet," Andrew said. "Right now, clear the alley. Give me sixty seconds."
Lucas nodded and disappeared into the shadowed hallway, dragging David behind him without making a sound.
The apartment fell dead silent, save for the patter of freezing rain leaking through the broken window and the erratic, flickering buzzing of the damaged floor lamp.
Andrew lowered his hands. His palms were coated in wet plaster and David's sweat. He wiped them on his trousers, took a slow, deep breath, and stripped off his black wool overcoat.
He approached Cindy slowly.
For the first time in ten years, the head of the Carter syndicate felt uncertain. He moved gently, dropping to one knee a few feet away from her, deliberately making himself smaller, removing every trace of the predator he had been two seconds ago.
"Cindy," he whispered.
She flinched slightly, her dark eyes wide and terrified, tracking his every move.
"He's gone," Andrew said, keeping his hands open and visible in front of him. "It's just me. It's Andrew."
A shudder ran through her entire frame, so violent her teeth clicked together. She looked down at her hands, then at the blood dripping onto her lap, as if she didn't recognize her own body.
"He... he had a key," she choked out, her voice cracked and raw. "I changed the locks last month, but he... he copied the master key from the super. He came in while I was making tea. He wanted money, Andrew. He said I owed him..."
"Shh," Andrew murmured, closing the small distance between them. He unfolded his dry coat and wrapped it gently around her shoulders. The heavy fabric engulfed her tiny frame, carrying the familiar scents of his cedarwood cologne and cold rain. "You don't have to explain anything right now."
"He hit me," she whispered, her voice dropping into a small, heartbreaking whimpering sound. "He took my phone and he... he hit me."
Andrew felt a knot of pure, unadulterated venom twist in his stomach, but his face remained a calm, immovable mask. He reached out, his long fingers hovering for a fraction of a second before gently brushing a strand of wet hair away from her bleeding forehead.
"He will never lay a hand on you again," Andrew said. It wasn't a comfort; it was a dark, binding covenant. "I promise you, Cindy. Never again."
She looked up at him, her tear-filled eyes searching his face. For months, she had seen him as the calm, stoic, impossibly capable executive who ran an empire from behind a dark mahogany desk. She had known about the dark rumors, of course—you couldn't work for Carter Logistics without hearing whisperings of the night shipping routes and the heavy men in charcoal suits who guarded the private elevators.
But seeing him here, covered in rain and drywall, his hands stained with the violence he had unleashed to reach her, she didn't see a mob boss.
She saw the only safe harbor in a world that had just collapsed around her.
Without a word, Cindy leaned forward and buried her face into the lapel of his suit jacket.
Andrew froze. His arms hovered in the air for a second, paralyzed by the sudden, overwhelming proximity. Then, slowly, carefully, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against his chest. She felt impossibly light, frail, her small body trembling against his solid frame as she wept quietly into his collar.
He held her tightly, resting his chin against her hair, his eyes staring into the dark, ruined corners of the apartment.
The civilian wall between them was gone. The distance he had maintained for two years to protect her from his bloody world had been shattered by a drunk mechanic with a baseball bat.
No more games, Andrew thought, his grip tightening around her. She belongs to me now. And I will burn this city to ash before anyone touches her again.
"Can you walk?" he whispered softly into her hair.
She shook her head against his chest. "My leg... he kicked me when I fell."
"Alright," Andrew said softly. "Hold onto my neck."
May you like
He slid one arm under her knees and the other around her back, lifting her off the floor in one fluid, effortless motion. She gasped softly, her arms instinctively locking around his neck, hiding her face against the crook of his collarbone.
Andrew walked out of the apartment, stepping over the shattered glass and ruined furniture, carrying her down the dark stairs into the freezing night.
