Chapter 1 - The Helicopter on the Roof
The rooftop wind cut through Nomi Marino’s jacket hard enough to make her eyes water, but she refused to go downstairs.
Below her, Chicago was preparing to become loud.
New Year’s Eve had transformed the city into a field of light. Windows glowed gold across the skyline. Music rose from distant terraces. Car horns echoed between buildings. Somewhere along the lakefront, technicians were preparing the fireworks that would explode at midnight.
Nomi wanted none of it.
Her sketchpad lay across her knees.
Charcoal darkened her fingertips.
She was twenty-three years old, five-foot-five on a generous day, and perfectly capable of attending the party happening six floors below her.
She had simply chosen not to.
Valentina Ki, her closest friend, had spent the previous week insisting that Nomi needed a dress, champagne, and “at least one terrible decision before January.”
Nomi had declined all three.
What Valentina did not know was that Nomi had already made one questionable decision.
She had helped her best friend leave Chicago.
Two days earlier, Valentina had disappeared with Axel Reed, a bassist with a mohawk, seventeen facial piercings, and the nervous habit of apologizing to furniture after bumping into it.
They were currently in Las Vegas.
And unless Valentina changed her mind, she would be married before midnight.
Nomi had promised not to tell anyone unless she knew Valentina was in danger.
She wasn’t.
She was happy.
For the first time since Nomi had known her, Valentina sounded free.
That mattered.
The Ki family had money, influence, private security, political connections, and a reputation nobody discussed too loudly.
They also had Octavio.
Valentina’s older brother.
Thirty years old.
Six-foot-three.
Dark hair always precisely styled.
Cold gray eyes.
A man who could silence a dining room simply by entering it.
For three years, Nomi had attended occasional dinners at the Ki mansion because Valentina refused to face those dinners alone.
Nomi always sat quietly.
Usually three chairs away from Octavio.
He never spoke to her.
Never asked her a question.
Never even appeared to notice her.
That was fine.
Nomi preferred invisibility.
Invisible people learned things.
They noticed which person at a table lied by touching his cuff links.
They noticed who became nervous when certain companies were mentioned.
They noticed that Octavio always checked the windows before sitting down.
That he scanned rooms clockwise.
That he never accepted a drink he had not watched someone pour.
That he checked his phone approximately every eleven minutes.
Nomi noticed because observing people was part of her work.
She was a tattoo artist.
Drawing skin required patience.
Understanding people required more.
Tonight she was sketching the skyline from memory and imagination, placing fireworks in the sky before they existed.
She had just begun shading the frozen reflection over Lake Michigan when the sound arrived.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Nomi stopped.
Rotor blades.
She raised her head.
A black helicopter appeared above the neighboring building.
“No,” she whispered.
It turned toward her rooftop.
“No, no, no.”
The building did not have a helipad.
That apparently did not matter to whoever owned a helicopter expensive enough to ignore practical details.
The aircraft descended.
Wind exploded across the rooftop.
Loose paper tore from beside Nomi.
“Damn it!”
She lunged after the pages.
One slid beneath a metal chair.
Another spun toward the edge.
She trapped it beneath her boot.
A third lifted into the air and struck the helicopter windshield before disappearing into darkness.
“Fantastic.”
The aircraft settled.
The door opened.
A polished black shoe touched the rooftop.
Nomi closed her eyes.
Of course.
Octavio Ki stepped from the helicopter wearing a charcoal suit and the expression of a man who had already lost patience with the entire planet.
He scanned the rooftop once.
His gaze landed on her.
For perhaps the first time in three years, Octavio Ki looked directly at Nomi Marino.
“Where is my sister?”
Not hello.
Not good evening.
Not sorry about scattering your artwork across Chicago.
Nomi crouched beside her sketchpad.
“Good evening to you too.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Valentina isn’t answering.”
“That happens when people don’t want to answer.”
“Where is she?”
Nomi retrieved another page.
“Not here.”
Octavio approached.
“Where?”
“Vegas.”
He stopped.
Nomi looked up.
“With Axel.”
Nothing.
“The bassist.”
Still nothing.
“The one with the mohawk.”
Octavio’s jaw tightened.
“And seventeen facial piercings.”
His expression became almost impressive.
Nomi added, “She likes him.”
“You let my sister go to Las Vegas with a musician?”
Something warm and angry ignited beneath Nomi’s ribs.
There it was.
The assumption.
That everyone around Valentina existed to report to him.
“I didn’t let her do anything.”
Octavio stared at her.
Nomi stood.
She was more than a foot shorter than him, her dark curls being destroyed by the wind, ripped jeans dusty from the rooftop, hands covered in charcoal.
She still held his gaze.
“Valentina is twenty-one.”
“She is my responsibility.”
“No. She’s your sister.”
“My family isn’t your concern.”
“Then don’t land a helicopter on my building and make it my concern.”
For several seconds, Octavio said nothing.
It was the first time Nomi had ever seen him genuinely surprised.
“You think you understand my family?”
“I know enough.”
“You sit silently at dinner.”
“Exactly.”
He stepped closer.
“You think silence makes you informed?”
“I think people say astonishing things when they assume you’re furniture.”
Something changed in his face.
Recognition.
Not of her appearance.
Of her existence.
“Nomi.”
She almost laughed.
“So you do know my name.”
“Nomi Marino.”
“The invisible girl three chairs down.”
“You’re Valentina’s tattoo artist friend.”
“I’m her friend who happens to be a tattoo artist.”
His gaze traveled over the sketchpad under her arm.
“You draw.”
“I observe.”
“Apparently.”
“Want to hear something interesting?”
His expression suggested he probably did not.
Nomi continued anyway.
“You enter every family dinner through the west door. You stand near the windows for four minutes before sitting down. You scan rooms clockwise. You check your phone every eleven minutes. You leave before dessert unless your grandmother is present.”
Octavio became very still.
“And,” Nomi added, “you’ve walked past me sixty-three times without acknowledging me.”
One dark eyebrow moved.
“You counted?”
“I notice patterns.”
“That is different from counting?”
“Not particularly.”
Something almost appeared at the corner of his mouth.
Almost.
Nomi pointed toward the stairwell.
“Your sister is safe.”
“I need to speak to her.”
“She won’t answer you.”
“She will.”
“She specifically told me she wouldn’t.”
Octavio’s expression hardened.
“Call her.”
“No.”
“Nomi.”
“See? That’s exactly your problem.”
His voice dropped.
“What problem?”
“You command people before you ask them.”
“I’m asking.”
“No. You’re using an interrogative sentence with the emotional energy of a kidnapping.”
For one astonishing second, Octavio looked as if he might laugh.
He didn’t.
“Call her.”
“Say please.”
His face went blank.
Nomi turned away.
She made it three steps.
“Please.”
She stopped.
The word sounded painful coming from him.
She glanced over her shoulder.
Octavio stood against the Chicago skyline, expensive suit moving in the wind, helicopter behind him.
For once, he looked like a man who could not simply order the universe into compliance.
“Help me find my sister,” he said. “Please.”
Nomi studied him.
Then she took out her phone.
Valentina answered on the second ring.
“Nomi! You should see this place. There’s an Elvis impersonator and Axel thinks the guitar-shaped altar is classy and—”
“Your brother is here.”
Silence.
“He what?”
“Helicopter.”
“Oh my God.”
“He’s being relatively civilized.”
Octavio gave her a look.
Nomi turned away.
“Are you safe?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sober enough to know what you’re doing?”
“Mostly.”
“Val.”
“I love him.”
The happiness disappeared from Valentina’s voice, replaced by something vulnerable.
“I know everyone thinks I’m being stupid. Maybe I am. But I’m tired of being somebody’s daughter and somebody’s sister. I want one thing in my life that I chose.”
Nomi’s expression softened.
“Then choose it.”
Octavio watched her closely.
“You’re sure?” Nomi asked.
“I’m sure.”
“Then go marry your ridiculous bassist.”
Valentina laughed through what sounded suspiciously like tears.
“I love you.”
“Send pictures.”
Nomi ended the call.
“She’s safe.”
Octavio’s face revealed nothing.
“She’s happy.”
His jaw flexed.
“She’s getting married.”
His gaze shifted toward Chicago.
“To him?”
“Yes.”
“He has seventeen pieces of metal in his face.”
“Apparently love is stronger than magnets.”
Octavio looked at her sharply.
Nomi almost smiled.
“You promised to consider leaving her alone if she was safe.”
“I said I would consider your perspective.”
“So consider faster.”
He exhaled slowly.
Nomi turned toward the stairwell.
“Where are you going?”
“To spend New Year’s Eve alone.”
He frowned.
“Why?”
“Because I like being alone.”
“You’re choosing this?”
“Yes.”
“No party?”
“No.”
“No date?”
“Definitely no.”
“No champagne?”
“I have coffee downstairs.”
Octavio looked toward the helicopter.
Then at her.
“I canceled my flight.”
Nomi blinked.
“What?”
“My evening is free.”
“That sounds deeply like your problem.”
“I’m staying.”
“Here?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
His gaze held hers.
“Because you have spent three years believing I never saw you.”
“You didn’t.”
“I do now.”
Nomi’s heartbeat stumbled.
Octavio removed his suit jacket, folded it once, and sat on the rooftop gravel three feet from her.
Nomi stared.
The terrifying head of the Ki family had just sat down beside an abandoned planter.
“What are you doing?”
“Waiting for midnight.”
“With me?”
“Unless another invisible tattoo artist appears.”
“You’re insane.”
“Possibly.”
Nomi slowly sat again.
She reopened her sketchpad.
For five minutes neither spoke.
Then Octavio glanced at the page.
“What are you drawing?”
“Fireworks.”
“There aren’t any yet.”
“There will be.”
“How do you draw something that hasn’t happened?”
Nomi looked toward the skyline.
“Anticipation.”
When she looked back, Octavio was no longer watching the drawing.
He was watching her.
And for the first time in three years, being seen did not feel safe.
It felt dangerous in an entirely different way.
Because Octavio Ki looked at Nomi Marino as if he had just discovered a mystery inside his own house.
May you like
And midnight was still two hours away.
---
