Chapter 3 - The Drawing He Was Never Supposed to See
The stranger froze when he saw Octavio.
For half a second, nobody moved.
Then the man dropped the paper.
He ran.
Octavio reacted instantly.
“Stay here.”
Naturally, Nomi did the opposite.
The stranger disappeared into the stairwell.
Octavio reached the door first, but by the time he looked down the concrete stairs, footsteps were already echoing several floors below.
He touched the communication device inside his collar.
“North stairwell. Male, dark coat. Do not engage civilians.”
Nomi stopped behind him.
“Your helicopter came with backup?”
“My life comes with backup.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
Octavio turned.
“This isn’t funny.”
“I joke when I’m scared.”
“I noticed.”
He closed the rooftop door.
Then he picked up the sketch.
Nomi recognized it immediately.
Her stomach dropped.
“No.”
Octavio studied the page.
It was one of her Ki mansion sketches.
Six months earlier.
Valentina’s grandmother’s birthday.
Nomi had been bored during dessert and drawn the opposite side of the dining room.
The picture seemed harmless.
A marble fireplace.
Three men.
A waiter.
Octavio near the window.
One of the family accountants, Malcolm Vey, beside a cabinet.
Another guest reflected faintly in a mirror.
Except now that Octavio was staring at it, Nomi began seeing the details differently.
“What?” she asked.
He said nothing.
“Octavio.”
“Where were you sitting?”
“South side of the dining table.”
“Who is this?”
He pointed toward the reflection.
Nomi leaned closer.
“A man.”
“I can see that.”
“I don’t know him.”
“You drew him clearly.”
“I draw what I see.”
The reflected man’s face was incomplete, but one feature was obvious.
A heavy signet ring.
Octavio became silent.
“You recognize it.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Instead of answering, he pulled out his phone and photographed the sketch.
“Who?”
“Someone who was not supposed to be in Chicago that night.”
Nomi’s pulse accelerated.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning your drawing proves someone lied.”
“About what?”
“That is what I need to determine.”
Nomi folded her arms.
“No.”
Octavio looked at her.
“No more cryptic mafia nonsense. Somebody photographed me. Somebody broke into your building. Somebody climbed onto my roof carrying my sketch. I am officially involved.”
“You were involved the moment they photographed you.”
“Then tell me.”
The fireworks continued exploding over the skyline.
Octavio’s face flickered gold, red, then blue.
“The man in the reflection is Emilio Sarno.”
Nomi waited.
“Should I know that name?”
“No.”
“That was helpful.”
“He runs logistics for an organization that has competed with my family for years.”
“A rival?”
“Yes.”
“And he told everyone he wasn’t in Chicago?”
“He claimed to be in Montreal.”
“Why does that matter?”
“Because three days after you made this drawing, one of our shipping contracts was compromised.”
Nomi stared at the page.
“I accidentally drew evidence.”
“Possibly.”
“And now somebody wants the sketch.”
“Possibly.”
“You say possibly a lot for someone who gives orders with such confidence.”
Octavio almost responded.
His phone rang.
One of his men had reached the lobby.
The stranger was gone.
No clear camera image.
Professional.
Octavio ended the call.
“We’re leaving.”
Nomi shook her head.
“I’m going to my apartment.”
“Yes.”
“To get my drawings.”
“Yes.”
“Then I’m staying there.”
“No.”
She stared.
“There he is.”
“Who?”
“The unbearable control freak.”
“Nomi—”
“This is my life.”
“And someone just entered your building because of something connected to mine.”
“That doesn’t mean you get to imprison me.”
“I’m trying to keep you alive.”
“And I’m trying to remain a person.”
The words landed harder than she intended.
Octavio went still.
Nomi softened slightly.
“Valentina ran because everyone kept making decisions for her.”
His eyes changed.
“You promised to consider her perspective.”
“I did.”
“Then consider mine.”
Silence.
“What do you want?” he asked.
The question surprised her.
“I want to go downstairs. I want to collect my drawings. I want to know what you know. And if you believe my apartment is unsafe, I’ll stay somewhere else temporarily.”
“With security.”
“Discreet security.”
He considered.
“No armed men standing inside my bedroom.”
A pause.
“Fine.”
“And no telling me where I’m allowed to go.”
“If going somewhere creates an immediate security risk, I reserve the right to strongly advise against it.”
Nomi squinted.
“Is that mafia language for ordering?”
“It is compromise.”
“Terrible compromise.”
“But compromise.”
She sighed.
“Fine.”
Ten minutes later, they entered Nomi’s apartment.
Octavio stopped just inside.
Her home looked exactly like what he apparently had not expected.
Art everywhere.
Canvases leaned against brick walls.
Tattoo designs covered corkboards.
Plants occupied old soup cans.
Books formed unstable towers beside the couch.
A sewing mannequin wore three winter scarves.
The refrigerator was covered in Polaroids of Nomi and Valentina.
Octavio walked slowly toward one wall.
Nomi’s heart jumped.
“No.”
Too late.
He saw the sketches.
Dozens.
People.
Strangers.
Friends.
Guests at Ki dinners.
Octavio himself.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Nomi felt suddenly exposed.
He stood before a drawing of him by a window.
“You drew me.”
“You were there.”
Another sketch showed his hands while he poured whiskey.
Another captured him listening to Valentina during a dinner, expression softer than usual.
Octavio touched none of them.
“How many?”
“I don’t count everything.”
“That is a lie.”
Nomi crossed her arms.
“Maybe thirty.”
He looked over his shoulder.
“You drew me thirty times?”
“Probably.”
“And I never noticed.”
“That was the point.”
His expression became unreadable.
Then he found another drawing.
And everything changed.
Octavio pulled it carefully from beneath several sheets.
Nomi barely remembered making it.
A Ki family dinner from eight months earlier.
Octavio’s uncle Vincent sat near the center.
Behind him, a waiter carried a tray.
In the reflective surface of a silver wine cooler, something appeared.
A hand.
Passing an envelope.
Octavio brought the sketch closer to the light.
“Who is that?”
“I don’t know.”
“You drew the ring again.”
Nomi looked.
Same heavy signet ring.
Emilio Sarno.
But the hand receiving the envelope belonged to someone else.
Only part of the cuff showed.
Dark fabric.
A distinctive silver button shaped like a lion.
Octavio’s face hardened.
“You know whose cuff that is.”
He did not answer.
“Octavio.”
His silence frightened her.
“Whose?”
“My uncle.”
Nomi stared at him.
“Vincent?”
“Yes.”
“But he’s your father’s brother.”
“I’m aware.”
Nomi looked between the sketches.
A rival who should not have been in Chicago.
An uncle secretly exchanging something with him.
Compromised family business.
And a stranger now trying to recover the evidence.
“This is bigger than Valentina.”
“Yes.”
“Bigger than your storage facility.”
“Yes.”
Octavio pulled out his phone.
Nomi touched his wrist.
“No.”
He stopped.
“If Vincent is involved, you don’t know who else is.”
His gaze sharpened.
“You can’t send this to everyone.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You were going to call someone.”
“One person.”
“Who?”
Octavio hesitated.
“Daniel Cho. Head of my personal security.”
“Do you trust him?”
“With my life.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Octavio studied her.
Then slowly lowered the phone.
Nomi realized she had just convinced the most powerful man in the room not to call his own security chief.
That was terrifying.
“What now?” she asked.
Octavio gathered the relevant sketches.
“Now we find out what you accidentally witnessed.”
“And after?”
His gaze met hers.
“After, I make sure nobody ever threatens you again.”
Nomi should have been reassured.
Instead she noticed something on the drawing in his hand.
A number.
Tiny.
Partially visible on the envelope she had sketched.
She took the page.
“Wait.”
“What?”
She moved beneath the lamp.
“Here.”
A sequence.
Four digits.
Then letters.
Octavio leaned beside her.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know.”
He looked closer.
His shoulder pressed lightly against hers.
Nomi ignored the reaction that caused.
Then Octavio’s phone vibrated.
A message.
Unknown number.
He opened it.
Nomi read over his shoulder.
YOU FOUND THE GIRL.
Another message followed.
NOW SEE IF YOU CAN KEEP HER.
Nomi stopped breathing.
Octavio’s entire expression went cold.
He turned toward her apartment windows.
“Lights off.”
“What?”
“Now.”
Nomi obeyed.
The room went dark.
Across the street, a vehicle sat with its headlights off.
A camera lens glinted briefly from the driver’s side.
Octavio stepped in front of Nomi.
And for the first time since the helicopter landed, she understood something that had nothing to do with attraction.
Octavio Ki was not the most dangerous thing that had entered her life that night.
May you like
He might be the only reason she survived what came next.
---
