Chapter 5 - The Mafia Boss Walks Into Her Tattoo Shop
The secret passage exited beneath an old greenhouse.
Nomi decided rich families were absurd.
Octavio decided this was not an appropriate time to discuss architecture.
They crossed the grounds through darkness while he made one phone call.
Not to Daniel.
To an older woman named Rosa Alvarez.
Nomi knew Rosa.
Everyone who spent time around the Ki family knew Rosa.
She had managed the household since Octavio was a teenager and possessed the terrifying confidence of a woman who had watched powerful men grow up badly.
Twenty minutes later, Rosa opened a service gate.
She wore slippers, a robe, and an expression of deep annoyance.
“You brought trouble into my garden.”
Octavio said, “Good evening, Rosa.”
“It is two in the morning.”
Nomi smiled.
Rosa noticed.
“Oh. The artist.”
“The invisible one,” Nomi said.
Rosa looked at Octavio.
“Not anymore, apparently.”
Octavio cleared his throat.
Rosa handed him car keys.
“No trackers. Old engine. Your grandfather hated electronics.”
“Where is Daniel?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t contact him.”
Rosa’s expression sharpened.
That was all she needed.
“Go.”
They left in a twenty-year-old Buick that smelled like cedar and peppermints.
Nomi stared at the dashboard.
“You own helicopters, armored SUVs, and this?”
“It belonged to my grandfather.”
“I like it.”
“So did he.”
“Did your grandfather also have secret tunnels?”
“Three.”
“Of course.”
Octavio drove them to the one place he believed nobody would expect.
Nomi’s tattoo shop.
Iron & Iris occupied the ground floor of an old brick building in Wicker Park.
At 3:06 a.m., Octavio Ki entered through the back door and stopped beneath a neon sign shaped like a flower.
Nomi turned on the lights.
For the first time all night, she felt like herself again.
Her walls.
Her equipment.
Her rules.
Octavio looked around.
“This is yours?”
“Half. I co-own it with Mara.”
“Where is Mara?”
“Visiting her parents in Milwaukee.”
“Good.”
Nomi frowned.
“You don’t get to be happy my business partner is gone.”
“I’m happy she isn’t in danger.”
That silenced her.
Octavio examined framed tattoo designs.
Flowers.
Animals.
Memorial portraits.
Geometric work.
One photograph showed an elderly woman smiling while Nomi tattooed her late husband’s handwriting onto her wrist.
Octavio studied it.
“You do more than draw.”
“I told you. People carry stories.”
He looked at her.
“And what story are you carrying?”
Nomi’s hands went still.
“That sounds suspiciously personal.”
“It is.”
She removed his jacket, which she was still wearing, and placed it over a chair.
“I thought dangerous mafia bosses didn’t ask personal questions.”
“I’m expanding my skills.”
“You’ve had six hours.”
“I learn quickly.”
Nomi smiled despite herself.
Then she remembered someone had been inside the Ki mansion searching for her work.
Her amusement vanished.
“We need copies.”
“Of everything.”
She opened a locked cabinet.
Inside were portfolio boxes filled with years of drawings.
Octavio stared.
“How many?”
“Thousands.”
His expression suggested he regretted asking.
They photographed everything connected to Ki dinners.
At 4:20, Octavio stopped beside a drawing taped near Nomi’s workstation.
It showed an empty chair.
Simple.
Graphite.
A coffee mug beside it.
“Who is this for?”
“My mother.”
He looked over.
“She used to sit there?”
“No.”
Nomi sat on the counter.
“She wanted to see the shop I’d open one day.”
Octavio remained silent.
“I drew the chair after I signed the lease.”
“Because she should have been there.”
“Yes.”
His voice softened.
“I understand that.”
Nomi believed him.
It was one of the things she was beginning to dislike about him.
Octavio was easier to hate from three chairs away.
Up close, he contained contradictions.
Control and grief.
Threat and restraint.
Arrogance and unexpected humor.
At 4:47, a vehicle stopped outside.
Both froze.
Octavio moved toward the window.
“Back.”
“This is my shop.”
“Nomi.”
She stayed where she was.
He gave her a look.
She gave him one back.
The front door opened.
A man entered.
Daniel Cho.
Octavio’s body became completely still.
Daniel lifted both hands.
“I’m alone.”
Octavio said nothing.
Daniel looked at Nomi.
“Ms. Marino.”
“Daniel.”
“I did not betray you.”
Octavio’s expression did not change.
“You were at the restaurant with Sarno.”
“Yes.”
Nomi’s breath caught.
Daniel continued.
“Because I was following him.”
Octavio’s eyes narrowed.
“You never reported it.”
“Because Vincent ordered me not to.”
Silence.
That was worse.
Daniel slowly removed a phone and placed it on the counter.
“I’ve suspected Vincent for eighteen months.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I couldn’t prove whether you were already compromised.”
Octavio moved one step closer.
“You thought I was working with my uncle?”
“I thought anyone could be.”
“Including me?”
“Including you.”
Nomi understood the logic.
Octavio did not enjoy it.
Daniel looked toward the drawings.
“Your artist found the connection.”
“My artist?” Nomi repeated.
Octavio said, “Not now.”
Daniel almost smiled.
He opened a file on the phone.
Photographs.
Vincent meeting Emilio.
Bank transfers.
Warehouse records.
“Why bring this now?” Octavio asked.
“Because someone moved against her.”
Daniel nodded toward Nomi.
“Until tonight, I had no witness outside the family. Now whoever is running this believes she can connect the pieces.”
Nomi swallowed.
“Why photograph me instead of just stealing the drawings?”
“Fear.”
Daniel’s answer was immediate.
“They wanted Octavio to know they could reach you.”
Nomi looked at Octavio.
He looked furious.
Not loud fury.
Something much colder.
Daniel continued.
“The person who entered the guest house wasn’t mine.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Vincent?”
“Maybe.”
Octavio turned toward the window.
Dawn was beginning to gray the sky.
“I want proof.”
“You have proof.”
“I want enough that he can’t bury it.”
Daniel nodded.
“There’s a financial archive.”
“Where?”
“That’s the problem.”
Daniel looked at Nomi’s sketches.
“We don’t know.”
Nomi suddenly remembered the number.
Four digits and letters.
Warehouse designation.
But perhaps not only that.
She crossed to a wall map behind the front desk.
The code.
She wrote it down.
“What if this isn’t a warehouse number?”
Octavio approached.
“What else?”
Nomi pointed.
“Chicago addresses sometimes use directional abbreviations.”
Daniel stared.
Then grabbed the paper.
“Not an address.”
“What?”
“A private vault coordinate.”
Octavio looked at him.
Daniel’s face had changed.
“I’ve seen this format.”
“Where?”
“Your father’s old records.”
Octavio went silent.
Daniel looked between them.
“That code may lead to the archive Vincent thinks was destroyed.”
Nomi felt hope.
Then the shop phone rang.
All three stared at it.
Nobody had called that line at five in the morning.
Nomi answered.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then a male voice.
“Miss Marino.”
Octavio immediately moved closer.
“You draw beautifully.”
Nomi’s blood chilled.
“Who is this?”
“You drew something that belongs to us.”
“No.”
“You don’t even know what I mean.”
“I know nothing I create belongs to you.”
The man chuckled.
“I understand why Octavio likes you.”
Nomi looked at Octavio.
His eyes became lethal.
The caller continued.
“Ask him whether women near him tend to survive very long.”
Nomi’s face changed.
Octavio reached for the phone.
The line went dead.
For several seconds, none of them moved.
Then Nomi looked at Octavio.
“Who was he talking about?”
“Nobody.”
“Don’t.”
Octavio looked away.
“Who?”
His jaw tightened.
“My mother.”
Nomi’s anger disappeared.
Daniel lowered his gaze.
Octavio stared through the window at the approaching dawn.
“She died because someone wanted leverage against my father.”
His voice was almost emotionless.
“That is why I control everything.”
Nomi finally understood.
Not excused.
Understood.
Octavio looked at her.
“And that is exactly why I will not let the same thing happen to you.”
Nomi stepped closer.
“Then don’t make the same mistake your father made.”
His expression tightened.
“What mistake?”
“Don’t turn me into leverage by treating me like an object you have to hide.”
She placed the coded drawing between them.
“Make me useful.”
Octavio stared at her for a long time.
Then he nodded once.
May you like
And at sunrise, inside a tattoo shop filled with stories, the invisible girl officially joined a war nobody had realized she had been watching for three years.
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