Chapter 2 - The Fortress on 5th Avenue
The armored Escalade moved through the slick, rain-drenched streets of Manhattan like a stealth warship.
Inside, the leather interior was silent, isolated from the city by three-inch bulletproof glass and reinforced steel plating. Masimo sat across from me in the rear cabin, his long legs crossed, his eyes fixed on the tablet in his lap as he issued quiet commands to his captains.
Leo was asleep across my lap, wrapped in a heavy fleece blanket one of Masimo’s men had brought from the kitchen. My fingers traced the pattern of the fabric automatically while my mind ran through numbers.
Fifty million dollars. Thirteen shell accounts. Four international shipping hubs.
“My house on 5th Avenue was built in 1912 by an iron baron,” Masimo said, breaking the silence without looking up from his tablet. “The stone walls are two feet thick. The glass is rated for heavy artillery. The basement contains a private server array with an independent satellite uplink.”
I looked at his profile against the dark window. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you’re counting exit routes in your head,” he replied calmly, setting the tablet aside. His slate-grey eyes met mine. “You’ve checked the door handles twice. You looked at Carlo’s shoulder holster when we got in. You’re assessing threat levels.”
“I’m a forensic accountant. Assessment is my job.”
“And survival is your instinct.” He leaned back against the leather seat. “Vanessa Stal underestimated you because you wore tailored skirts and worked behind a desk. She assumed numbers were passive.”
“Numbers are never passive,” I said quietly. “Numbers are just violence written in arithmetic.”
A dark smile touched Masimo’s lips. “I’m going to enjoy having you in my house, Alessandra.”
Ten minutes later, the SUV pulled into a private underground garage off 5th Avenue, directly across from Central Park. The steel security gate rolled down behind us, sealing out the night.
The interior of the townhouse was breathtaking—a blend of historic marble, dark walnut paneling, and cutting-edge security systems. Men in dark suits stood discreetly in the hallway, acknowledging Masimo with silent nods as we entered.
A housekeeper, an older Italian woman named Rosa with kind eyes and silver hair, stepped forward immediately.
“Mr. Costa,” she said in a soft voice, before looking at me and Leo with deep sympathy. “The guest suite on the third floor is prepared. I’ve warmed the bed and brought up clean clothing.”
“Thank you, Rosa,” I said, feeling a wave of exhaustion hit me like a physical blow now that we were indoors.
Masimo guided us up a grand curved staircase. The third-floor suite was massive—a master bedroom with a adjoining sitting room, a fireplace crackling with soft heat, and a nursery setup that looked like it had been prepared by a high-end designer within the last hour. A small wooden crib sat beside the king-sized bed, complete with fresh linens and stuffed animals.
I laid Leo down in the crib. He didn't even wake up, merely curling into a ball with a soft sigh.
When I turned back around, Masimo was standing in the doorway of the sitting room, watching me.
“The laptop,” he said smoothly, gesturing to the small leather backpack slung over my shoulder.
I pulled the bag closer to my chest. “We had an agreement.”
“I’m not taking it,” Masimo said, his voice lowering into a gravelly purr. He stepped into the room, his presence filling the space until the air felt heavy. He stopped three feet away—respecting my boundary, but making his strength impossible to ignore. “I brought you a secure terminal. You can plug your drive into an isolated sandboxed network. It will run your dead-man switch without broadcasting your location to Vanessa’s cell towers.”
I stared at him, evaluating the offer. “You have an air-gapped sandbox?”
“I run a multi-billion-dollar enterprise that half the state department wants to monitor,” he said drily. “I have better tech than the NYPD.”
I hesitated, then slowly unzipped the backpack and pulled out the small black flash drive. “If your system tries to copy these files, the drive wipes itself instantly.”
“I wouldn't expect anything less from you,” Masimo said.
He stepped back toward the door, his eyes lingering on my face—taking in the damp hair sticking to my neck, the pale exhaustion around my eyes, and the stubborn chin that refused to yield.
“Get some sleep, Alessandra,” he said quietly. “Tomorrow, the real work begins.”
He turned to leave, but stopped at the threshold.
“Masimo?” I called out softly.
He looked back over his shoulder.
“Why did you really let me sit at your table?”
May you like
Masimo looked at me for a long moment, the shadow of a dark, fierce smile touching his lips.
“Because for fifteen years, everyone who walked up to my table wanted something from me,” he said. “You were the first person who walked up looking like you were ready to burn the building down yourself.”
