Chapter 1 - The Sound of Breaking Glass
Blood dries faster than regret, but the stain it leaves behind on a man’s conscience lingers long after the linen napkin has been thrown into the wash. Nico sat at the head of the heavy oak table, his fingers moving methodically to wipe a small streak of crimson from his knuckles. The meeting had stretched past five hours, a grueling session of dividing South Side territory and negotiating profit margins on imported liquor with men who smelled of stale tobacco and suppressed violence. Across from him, Arthur rolled a thick cigar between his fingers, his scarred face illuminated by the amber glow of the desk lamp.
“You’re pushing yourself too hard, Nico,” Arthur said, leaning back and blowing a cloud toward the high ceiling. “You’re bleeding the men dry, and you’re bleeding yourself. Take a week. Take Norah somewhere. Italy. The coast. She looked pale the last time I saw her.”
Nico disliked conversations about Norah, primarily because they forced him to acknowledge a perimeter he could not entirely control. In his world, dependence was a fatal flaw, an anchor that dragged men down into rivers of their own making.
“Norah is fine,” Nico replied, his voice flat and dismissive. “She has my black card. She can go to the coast whenever she wants. She doesn’t need me holding her hand on a beach.”
“I’m not talking about her credit limit,” Arthur said, striking a match with a sharp scratch that cut through the silence of the smoke-filled study. “I’m talking about you. A man needs a foundation. Without one, the house crumbles. She’s a good girl. You’re lucky she puts up with your hours.”
A cold smile touched Nico’s mouth as he poured another measure of scotch without ice.
“Lucky? I don’t rely on luck, and I don’t rely on her. Let’s get one thing straight, Arthur. She’s here because it’s comfortable for her. But if she packed her bags and walked out that door tonight—if she left me today, I wouldn’t care. I’d have the locks changed by morning and forget her name by Friday.”
Arthur studied him for a long, quiet moment before nodding slowly.
“If you say so, boss.”
Outside the heavy mahogany doors, Norah stood frozen in the dim hallway. She held a silver tray bearing two fresh glasses of water and a plate of sliced fruit, items she had spent twenty minutes preparing because she knew the men would be dehydrated from hours of arguing. Her fingers tightened around the metal handles until her knuckles turned white. She did not gasp or drop the tray. Three years living on the precipice of Nico’s violent empire had taught her how to absorb shocks in absolute silence.
If she left me today, I wouldn’t care.
The words echoed in her mind, settling deep into her chest like freezing water filling the hull of a sinking vessel. Her bare feet felt impossibly cold against the dark hardwood floor as she retraced her steps down the long corridor, away from the study, and back to the quiet kitchen. She placed the tray on the marble island, her movements calm and mechanical. Looking at her reflection in the dark glass of the oven door, she realized Arthur had been entirely right. She looked like a ghost.
May you like
She walked into the master bedroom, her heart beating with a strange, heavy clarity. Opening the walk-in closet, she bypassed the glittering rows of designer dresses and expensive handbags purchased with Nico’s blood money. Instead, she reached for a simple black canvas duffel bag on the top shelf. She packed three pairs of jeans, a couple of worn sweaters, and practical necessities, leaving every piece of jewelry, every luxury gift, and her toothbrush behind. She wanted to leave no scent, no trace, no emotional residue.
Leaving through the service elevator at 12:45 a.m., she slipped past the night guard who was distracted by the streetlights outside. The night air hit her face with a sharp, biting chill as she stepped into the fog of the city. She pulled her coat tightly around her shoulders and walked away from the glass tower without looking back once.
