Chapter 2 - THE SHADOW OVER OAK STREET
The rain didn't stop all night. It beat against the cracked windowpanes of Apartment 4B on Oak Street, a rhythmic, relentless thrumming that sounded like a ticking clock counting down the hours she had left.
Diane sat at the small formica kitchen table, watching her sister sleep through the open bedroom door. Sadi was curled up under a faded floral blanket, her chest rising and falling in rhythmic peace.
On the table in front of Diane lay the damp stack of hundred-dollar bills. Fifty crisp notes. Five thousand dollars.
She hadn't slept a second since the guards threw her out of the hotel. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Ravi Greedy’s face—the razor-sharp angle of his jaw, the deep amber-brown of his eyes that looked less like human eyes and more like polished obsidian, and the absolute lack of warmth in his voice when he had declared that nobody touched him without permission.
At 6:00 AM, the local morning news program began playing on the tiny battery-powered radio resting on the counter.
"...In local news, police are investigating a suspicious fire that swept through a high-end luxury boutique in the fashion district late last night," the female anchor’s voice droned over the static. "The boutique, owned by socialite Catherine Voss, was completely destroyed. Authorities state the blaze appears to have been caused by an electrical failure, though sources close to the investigation suggest arson has not been ruled out. Miss Voss was unavailable for comment..."
Diane felt her stomach drop into an abyss.
It wasn't an electrical failure.
It had been less than eight hours since the incident at the ballroom, and Catherine Voss’s business had already been reduced to ash.
Diane stood up so fast her chair screeched against the linoleum floor. She ran to the sink, splashing cold water onto her face, trying to stop the violent trembling in her hands.
Ravi Greedy wasn't just a powerful man. He was an executioner.
"Diane?"
Sadi was standing in the doorway, rubbing her eyes, her oversized pajama shirt hanging off one small shoulder.
"Hey, sweetie," Diane said, forcing her voice to drop an octave to hide the tremor. "You're up early."
"I heard the radio," Sadi murmured, walking over and leaning her head against Diane’s waist. "Are you okay? You look like you saw a ghost."
Diane wrapped her arms around her sister, burying her face in Sadi’s soft, shampoo-scented hair. "I'm just tired, baby. Just tired."
"Did you get the money from the gala?" Sadi asked quietly.
Diane looked back at the kitchen table. Slowly, she walked over, took the stack of cash, and slid it into an old envelope.
"I got enough to pay the landlord," Diane whispered. "We're not getting evicted, Sadi."
Sadi’s eyes lit up with sudden, joyful tears. She hugged Diane around the waist again, squeezing with all the strength her ten-year-old body possessed. "I knew you could do it! I knew it!"
Diane hugged her back, but her eyes were fixed on the street four stories below their window.
Parked directly across from their apartment building, idling quietly in the rain beneath the yellow glow of a streetlamp, was a dark, sleek sedan with tinted windows.
May you like
It hadn't been there yesterday.
And as Diane watched, the driver’s side window rolled down half an inch, revealing the glint of a lit cigarette and a pair of watchful, unforgiving eyes staring directly up at her floor.
