Chapter 4 - Whispers in the Dark
The sedative didn't eliminate the nightmares; it only made them heavier, slower, and harder to wake up from.
In her sleep, Evelyn was back in the damp, windowless basement beneath the Brooklyn meatpacking plant. She could hear the heavy drip of water from the overhead copper pipes, the smell of sawdust and copper, and the heavy, metallic crunch of boots coming down the wooden stairs.
“Where is it, girl?” Vincent’s voice echoed off the damp concrete walls. “Your old man was smart, but he was weak. He thought he could buy your freedom with thirty years of numbers. Tell me where the drive is, or I’ll let Paulie play with you for another hour.”
Evelyn jerked awake with a sharp, gasping scream that tore through her bruised throat.
She scrambled backward against the headboard, her hands clawing at the silk sheets, her heart hammering against her taped ribs like a trapped bird. Her vision was swimming in darkness.
"Easy," a voice said from the corner of the room. "You're in Midtown. You're on the eighty-first floor."
Evelyn froze.
Julian was sitting in a high-backed leather wing chair near the window, a single reading lamp illuminated beside him. He wasn't looking at her; he was holding a small glass of whiskey, his eyes fixed on the rain that had begun to smear the glass outside.
"I didn't mean to wake you," Julian said softly. "I come up here when I can't sleep. The silence down on the lower floors is too loud."
Evelyn pulled the duvet up to her chin, her breathing gradually slowing down as the reality of the warm, carpeted room replaced the cold concrete of her memory.
"What time is it?" she asked, her voice raspy.
"Four in the morning," Julian replied. "The rain started about an hour ago. It'll clear by dawn."
She looked at him through the dim golden light of the single lamp. He had taken off his vest and tie; his white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, revealing the sharp line of his collarbone and the faint edge of an old scar running up his neck.
"Why are you staying in here?" she asked.
"Because Gabriel called ten minutes ago," Julian said calmly, taking a sip of his drink. "Vincent sent three men to the parking garage below this building. They tried to bypass the security gates on forty-second street."
Evelyn went rigid. "They're here?"
"They were here," Julian corrected. "Gabriel handled it. They're currently in the back of a panel van on their way to a private scrapyard in New Jersey. They won't be returning to Brooklyn."
He turned his head to look at her. His gray eyes were entirely devoid of fear, filled only with a deep, methodical certainty that terrified her almost as much as Vincent's rage had.
"He won't stop," Evelyn whispered. "Vincent isn't like other men. He doesn't care about rules, or territory, or the police. He thinks everything in this city belongs to him."
"Vincent thinks that because the men before me allowed him to think it," Julian said, setting his glass on the side table. "They took his money, they shared his docks, and they pretended he was a businessman. I don't take his money, I don't share my docks, and I know exactly what he is."
He stood up smoothly, picking up his jacket from the back of the chair.
"Go back to sleep, Evelyn. The doors in this apartment are reinforced steel core with electronic locks. Nobody enters this room unless I open the door myself."
As he walked toward the door, Evelyn called out to him. "Julian?"
He paused, his hand resting on the brass handle.
"Why did you say that?" she asked, her voice small in the vast, quiet room. "To the men who brought me. Why did you say nobody owns me here?"
Julian didn't turn around, but his shoulders tightened slightly beneath his shirt.
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"Because ten years ago, someone tried to sell my sister to a union boss in Queens to pay off a gambling debt," Julian said quietly. "I killed the union boss, I killed the man who tried to sell her, and I bought this building so I would never have to ask permission to protect what belongs under my roof."
He opened the door, stepped out into the hallway, and pulled it shut behind him with a soft, decisive click.
