Chapter 5 - A City Big Enough to Disappear In
Nico arrived in seven minutes.
I hated that I was relieved.
That feeling made me angrier than the photograph.
He stopped outside my door.
“Norah.”
“It’s unlocked.”
The door opened slowly.
Nico entered alone.
His eyes found me first.
Then the photograph on the table.
He didn’t touch it.
“May I?”
That word again.
May.
Not his usual language.
I nodded.
He lifted the picture by its edges.
When he turned it over, something brutal flashed across his face.
Not panic.
Not surprise.
Recognition of a kind of threat he understood much better than I did.
“Who sent this?”
“If I knew that, this conversation would be shorter.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
“You saw anyone?”
“No.”
“Heard footsteps?”
“Yes.”
“Man or woman?”
“I don’t know.”
Nico nodded once.
“You’re leaving.”
My shoulders stiffened.
“No.”
His eyes lifted.
“Norah.”
“I’m not moving back to the penthouse.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You were about to.”
“I was going to say you’re leaving this building.”
“I start work Monday.”
“You can start from somewhere else.”
I laughed without humor.
“There he is.”
“Who?”
“The man who walks into my life and rearranges it without asking.”
“This is different.”
“It always is.”
“Someone threatened you.”
“And I called you.”
“That means you understand it’s serious.”
“It means I needed information.”
Nico put the photograph down.
“Fine. Information. Somebody planted a listening device in my study. They may have heard the meeting the night you left.”
“What meeting details?”
His eyes shifted.
That told me enough.
“Illegal ones.”
“Norah—”
“I’m not asking for a confession.”
He exhaled.
“Routes. Money. Territory. Names.”
“And because they heard I left, they think I’m useful.”
“Yes.”
“For what?”
“Pressure.”
The word hung between us.
I folded my arms.
“I don’t know anything.”
“They don’t have to believe that.”
That was the first moment fear truly settled in.
Nico saw it.
His voice softened.
“I have an apartment.”
“No.”
“Not the penthouse. Nobody connects it publicly to me. Secure building. Private entrance.”
“I said no.”
“You can hate me there.”
“I’m not reorganizing my life because men in your world think women are leverage.”
His jaw tightened.
“This isn’t about pride.”
“No. It’s about control.”
“It’s about keeping you alive.”
My eyes snapped toward him.
“Don’t use fear to win an argument.”
He stopped.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then Nico did something I had almost never seen him do.
He backed down.
“All right.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“You’re right.”
That unsettled me more than yelling would have.
“I am?”
“I came here ready to move you whether you agreed or not.”
My expression hardened.
He continued before I could speak.
“And that is exactly why you left.”
Silence.
“So we do it your way.”
I studied him suspiciously.
“What does that mean?”
“You choose where you stay.”
“No guards following me.”
His mouth tightened.
“That’s difficult.”
“Nico.”
“I’m being honest.”
“No visible guards. Nobody watching through my windows. Nobody reporting where I eat or who I talk to.”
He looked like the terms physically hurt.
“Two people nearby.”
“One.”
“Two.”
“One.”
“Norah.”
“Then zero.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You negotiate like Arthur.”
“Arthur likes me.”
“Arthur fears you.”
For the first time in days, the corner of my mouth almost moved.
We settled on one protective detail.
At a distance.
No reporting unless there was danger.
I would know his name.
Marcus.
Former military.
Married.
Two daughters.
Nico gave me a photograph so I wouldn’t mistake him for another stalker.
Then he asked the question I expected earlier.
“Where can you stay?”
“Elena.”
“No.”
“You agreed I choose.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“I did.”
“Elena has a guest room.”
“Address?”
“No.”
His stare sharpened.
“You’re not getting it.”
“How exactly does Marcus protect you if I don’t know where you are?”
“You give me Marcus’s number.”
He almost laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because I had outmaneuvered him inside a system he invented.
“All right.”
I packed before sunrise.
This time the bag felt different.
I wasn’t fleeing.
I was choosing.
At the door, Nico lifted the duffel automatically.
I grabbed the handle.
“I can carry it.”
“I know.”
He released it immediately.
That tiny movement stayed with me.
He walked me downstairs.
Outside, dawn was beginning to lighten the Chicago skyline.
Elena’s car pulled up.
She saw Nico and glared so hard I thought glass might crack.
I opened the passenger door.
“Norah.”
I looked back.
Nico stood on the sidewalk in his black coat.
For once, there was no command in his expression.
“I’m sorry.”
Three words.
Simple.
Late.
Not enough.
But real.
“For what part?” I asked.
His eyes met mine.
“All of it.”
I got into Elena’s car.
We drove away.
In the side mirror, Nico remained on the sidewalk until we turned the corner.
Elena waited thirty seconds.
“Did he just apologize?”
“Yes.”
“Should I circle the block? Maybe hell froze and traffic will be better.”
Despite everything, I laughed.
Then I cried.
Then I did both.
Monday morning, I started work at Hartwell Studio.
Marcus remained across the street.
He never approached.
Never called.
Never followed me inside.
For three days, nothing happened.
By Thursday, I almost believed the photograph had been an isolated warning.
Then Claire called me into her office.
“There’s a man downstairs asking for you.”
My stomach tightened.
“Nico?”
“No.”
“Arthur?”
“No.”
“Did he give a name?”
Claire glanced at the note from reception.
“Rafael Crane.”
I had never heard it.
“What does he want?”
“Says he has information about one of our redevelopment projects.”
That made no sense.
Until Claire added:
“He specifically said you’d understand once you saw the address.”
She turned the paper toward me.
South Halsted Street.
I recognized it.
Nico had mentioned it the night I stood outside the study door.
The night he destroyed us.
And suddenly, the two halves of my life—the one I had escaped and the one I was rebuilding—were standing in the same lobby.
May you like
Waiting for me to come downstairs.
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