Chapter 3 - The Secret Hidden in Her Reports
At eleven forty-five, South Station looked almost peaceful.
The late trains had thinned the crowds. Cleaning machines moved over the tiled floor. Announcements echoed from the high ceiling, each voice dissolving into another before anyone seemed to listen.
I stood near track nine carrying a leather satchel filled with blank folders.
Dante’s men were somewhere around me.
I had not seen any of them.
That was the point.
Dante himself was supposed to remain in the surveillance van parked two streets away. He had agreed only after I reminded him that Pierce knew his face and would disappear if he saw him.
I wore a small transmitter beneath my blouse.
Dante had attached it himself.
His fingers had brushed my collarbone as he secured the wire. Neither of us mentioned the kiss at the restaurant or the way his eyes had lingered when I looked up.
“Do not improvise,” he had said.
“That is rich coming from the man who returned my fake kiss.”
“It became necessary.”
“You looked very dedicated to the mission.”
His expression had remained controlled, but the room had changed around us.
Now, near track nine, my earpiece crackled.
“Two minutes,” Dante said.
His voice was low enough that it felt close.
I watched the dark mouth of the railway tunnel.
“Do you see Lena?”
“Not yet.”
“If she isn’t here—”
“We find her.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“No,” he said. “But I can promise Pierce will not leave Boston.”
Footsteps approached from behind.
I turned.
Harlan Pierce wore the same thin coat from the café. A bruise darkened one side of his face. His hair was wet, though it had stopped raining almost an hour earlier.
He looked smaller than I remembered.
“Where’s my sister?”
“Did you bring the reports?”
I lifted the satchel.
“Where is she?”
Pierce glanced around the platform.
“You came alone?”
“Yes.”
He studied my face.
“You warned Sabatini.”
“I heard men discussing the attack.”
“You should have ignored it.”
“You hired me to investigate him, not help murder him.”
Pierce’s mouth twisted.
“You think there’s a difference?”
“There is to me.”
“It won’t matter soon.”
My heartbeat accelerated.
“Where is Lena?”
“Safe for now.”
“Show me.”
He took out his phone and played a video. Lena sat in a chair inside a dim room, wrists bound in front of her. A man’s hand entered the frame and placed a pistol against her shoulder.
My vision narrowed.
“Where?”
“The reports first.”
I held the satchel tighter.
“Who do you work for?”
“You already know.”
“Viktor Hale.”
Pierce’s eyes moved slightly.
Confirmation.
Dante heard it too.
“What does Hale want with Dante?”
Pierce laughed without humor.
“What everyone wants. His territory. His companies. His loyalty or his absence.”
“Why spend eleven months collecting routines?”
“Because Dante Sabatini is difficult to kill.”
“You chose his private dinner.”
“You chose it,” Pierce corrected. “You wrote the report.”
The guilt landed exactly where he intended.
Inside my earpiece, Dante said, “Do not react.”
I forced my breathing to remain steady.
“Lena first,” I said.
Pierce reached for the satchel.
I stepped back.
His expression hardened.
“You are not in a position to bargain.”
“Neither are you. Hale will blame you for the failed attack.”
Fear moved beneath his face.
“You think Sabatini will protect you?” he asked. “You think because he touched you in that restaurant, you matter to him?”
“This isn’t about Dante.”
“It is now. Hale knows you left with him. He knows Sabatini brought you into his house.”
A cold realization formed.
“How?”
Pierce smiled.
“Because someone inside Dante’s organization reports everything.”
Dante’s voice sharpened in my ear.
“Ask who.”
“Who is it?”
Pierce shook his head.
“Give me the bag.”
“I need a name.”
“You need your sister alive.”
A train announcement began overhead. The final service to Providence was preparing to depart from track ten.
People moved past us. A family with two sleepy children. A student carrying a backpack. An older man studying his ticket.
Pierce stepped closer.
“Hand it over.”
I extended the satchel, then pulled it back.
“Call your man. Tell him to release Lena.”
“He won’t do that until I confirm the documents.”
“Then open them.”
Pierce took the bag.
He unzipped it and pulled out the first folder.
Blank paper.
His face changed.
I moved before he could reach inside his coat.
My knee struck his wrist. The pistol fell and skidded beneath a bench.
Pierce caught my hair and dragged me backward.
People screamed.
Dante’s men appeared from nowhere.
One came from the stairwell. Another rose from a bench. A third vaulted the low barrier separating the platforms.
Pierce wrapped an arm around my throat and pressed a small blade beneath my jaw.
“Back off!”
They stopped.
My earpiece filled with Dante’s voice.
“Marceline.”
I could hear movement behind him. A door slamming.
“Stay in the van,” I whispered.
Pierce tightened his grip.
“You wore a wire.”
He tore at my blouse, found the transmitter, and crushed it beneath his shoe.
The connection vanished.
For the first time that night, I felt truly alone.
Pierce dragged me toward the end of the platform.
“Tell Sabatini to withdraw his men.”
“He can’t hear me.”
“Then make them understand.”
I looked at the three armed men facing us.
“Stand down.”
None moved.
Pierce pressed the knife harder.
A line of heat opened beneath my jaw.
“Tell them!”
“Stand down!” I shouted.
They lowered their weapons but did not put them away.
Pierce pulled me toward a maintenance exit.
The door behind us opened.
Dante stepped through.
He wore no jacket now, only the dark shirt from beneath it, sleeves rolled to his forearms. His pistol remained lowered at his side.
Pierce froze.
“You were supposed to stay in the van,” I said.
Dante’s eyes moved to the knife.
“I changed my mind.”
“Tell your men to leave,” Pierce demanded.
Dante did not look away from me.
“Marceline, can you breathe?”
“Barely.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“It means he needs you conscious.”
Pierce jerked me backward.
“Drop the gun!”
Dante placed the pistol on the ground.
“Kick it over.”
He did.
The weapon slid across the tile and stopped near Pierce’s shoe.
For the first time, Pierce smiled.
“You are not as untouchable as they say.”
“No one is.”
“You built an empire and hid a daughter in Charlestown. Did you believe Hale would never learn about her?”
Dante’s face remained still.
My blood went cold.
Pierce knew about Sofia.
I had never written her name.
That meant the traitor inside Dante’s organization had discovered her independently—or had followed Dante more carefully than I ever had.
Dante’s voice lowered.
“Where is the girl?”
“Safe. For tonight.”
“Where is Lena?”
Pierce’s arm shifted.
I took the chance.
I drove my heel down onto his foot and threw my head backward. Bone cracked against my skull. Pierce cursed.
The knife moved away from my throat.
Dante crossed the distance between us before I could fall.
He struck Pierce once in the chest, caught the knife hand, and twisted until the blade hit the ground.
Pierce reached for Dante’s pistol.
I kicked it beneath the arriving train.
Dante’s fist struck Pierce’s jaw.
Pierce collapsed near the edge of the platform.
Dante lifted him by the coat.
“Where are they?”
Pierce spat blood.
“You’ll never reach both.”
“Both?”
“Your daughter and her sister.”
A phone began ringing inside Pierce’s pocket.
Dante removed it and answered.
No one spoke.
Then a man’s voice said, “Midnight was the deadline.”
A gunshot sounded through the phone.
I stopped breathing.
The call ended.
“Lena,” I whispered.
Dante grabbed Pierce by the throat.
“Where?”
Pierce laughed, blood staining his teeth.
“Ask your traitor.”
The station lights went out.
Darkness swallowed the platform.
Shots erupted from the stairwell.
Dante pulled me down behind a steel bench. His body covered mine while his men returned fire.
“Are you hit?” he asked.
“No.”
“Stay behind me.”
Emergency lights flickered on.
Pierce was gone.
A maintenance door swung near the end of the platform.
Dante started after him.
I caught his sleeve.
“My sister.”
He looked down at my hand.
“We find her first.”
“What about Sofia?”
“My people are moving her.”
“Pierce said we couldn’t reach both.”
“He wanted us divided.”
“What if he was telling the truth?”
Dante’s expression tightened.
“He knew Sofia’s location.”
“And someone inside your organization gave it to him.”
For the first time, fear entered Dante’s eyes—not fear for himself, but the cold terror of a father who had built every wall he could and suddenly understood that one of them had a door.
His phone rang.
The woman from his house spoke quickly on the other end.
Dante’s face changed.
“What happened?” I asked.
He lowered the phone.
“The car sent to collect Sofia never arrived.”
“Who ordered it?”
“My head of security.”
“Can you trust him?”
“I trusted him with my life.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
May you like
Dante looked toward the dark maintenance exit where Pierce had escaped.
“No,” he said. “Not anymore.”
