Chapter 3 - THIRTY-FIVE THOUSAND REASONS
Manhattan at four in the morning looked almost peaceful from behind bullet-resistant glass.
I hated that I knew the glass was bullet resistant.
Adrian had mentioned it casually after I tried lowering the window.
“Does everything in your life have to be armored?” I asked Damian.
He sat beside me in the back of the black SUV.
“No.”
“Name one thing that isn't.”
He glanced at me.
“My coffee machine.”
I waited.
“Probably,” he added.
Under different circumstances, I might have laughed.
Instead, I stared at my phone.
Maya had sent another message.
You working late again? Go home and sleep, psycho.
I typed back.
On my way to see you.
Three dots appeared.
At 4am???
Couldn't sleep.
Technically true.
Maya replied with six question marks and a coffee emoji.
I put the phone down.
Two SUVs followed us.
One drove ahead.
I couldn't see the people inside, which was exactly the point.
“Tell them not to scare her,” I said.
“They won't.”
“She doesn't know anything about you.”
“Good.”
“She definitely doesn't know I'm sitting beside you in an armored car.”
“Better.”
I turned toward him.
“Is this normal for you?”
“What?”
“This.”
I gestured vaguely toward the convoy.
“Threats. Security. Secret keys.”
“No.”
I stared.
Damian almost smiled.
“The security is normal.”
I looked away.
The silver watch rested inside his coat pocket.
He had refused to let it out of his possession since we left the penthouse.
Adrian had placed my phone inside some kind of encrypted bag after recording the threatening texts.
Apparently the number had been spoofed.
Of course it had.
Nothing could be simple.
We reached Mount Sinai several minutes later.
Damian's people entered first.
No dark sunglasses.
No obvious weapons.
One wore jeans and a Columbia sweatshirt.
Another carried a paper coffee cup.
If I hadn't known what to look for, I would never have noticed them.
The elevator ride to Maya's floor was unbearable.
I imagined every possible disaster.
Her room empty.
Someone standing beside her bed.
A nurse telling me she had been transferred.
The doors opened.
I practically ran.
A nurse looked up from the station.
I recognized her immediately.
“She's fine,” she said before I could speak.
I almost collapsed.
“Can I see her?”
“She's awake. Because apparently neither of you believes in sleep.”
I pushed open the room door.
Maya was sitting upright with her knees beneath a blanket, watching television without sound.
Her dark hair had become noticeably thinner during treatment, but she had refused to shave it.
Instead, she wore a knitted yellow hat.
The same one from our call.
When she saw me, she frowned.
“You look terrible.”
I crossed the room and hugged her.
“Wow,” Maya said. “Love you too.”
I held on too long.
Her voice softened.
“Hey.”
“I'm fine.”
“That's what people say when they're aggressively not fine.”
I pulled away.
She studied me.
Then looked past my shoulder.
Damian stood outside the room.
He had removed his suit jacket and rolled his sleeves once.
Still unmistakably Damian Russo.
Maya raised one eyebrow.
“Okay.”
“No.”
“I didn't say anything.”
“You were going to.”
“I was going to ask why a man who looks like he owns three casinos is standing outside my hospital room.”
“He doesn't own casinos.”
From the hallway Damian said, “Two.”
I closed my eyes.
Maya grinned.
“Oh, I like him.”
“You don't know him.”
“Neither do you, apparently.”
Damian stepped into the doorway.
“Damian Russo.”
“Maya.”
“I know.”
Her grin vanished.
“That's slightly creepy.”
“Your sister told me.”
“Oh.”
Maya looked at me.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
She glanced toward the two men outside.
“Nothing brought a security detail?”
“They're friends.”
One of the men looked inside.
Maya nodded solemnly.
“Your friends are shaped like refrigerators.”
I sat beside her.
“Maya.”
Her humor disappeared.
“What happened?”
I couldn't tell her everything.
Not yet.
But lying to my sister had never worked.
“I saw something behind the restaurant.”
“What kind of something?”
“An argument.”
“You called the police?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“It's complicated.”
“That's never good.”
Damian remained near the doorway, giving us space.
Maya looked at him again.
Then at me.
“Is somebody threatening you?”
I hesitated.
Wrong move.
Her face changed immediately.
“Oh my God.”
“I'm okay.”
“What happened?”
“A stupid text.”
“What text?”
“It doesn't matter.”
“If it doesn't matter, why is Casino Batman standing outside?”
Damian looked down.
I thought he might actually be hiding a smile.
“Maya.”
“Tell me.”
“They mentioned you.”
All color left her face.
I took her hand.
“Nobody is going to touch you.”
“Who?”
“We don't know.”
She looked at Damian.
“You know.”
His expression became serious.
“I know who may be involved.”
“And?”
“And I am going to make sure nobody comes near either of you.”
Maya squeezed my fingers.
“How?”
“That part is my responsibility.”
“No.”
Maya had always been the calmer sister.
Illness hadn't changed that.
If anything, the months in hospitals had made her less afraid of powerful people.
“She is my responsibility,” Maya said.
“She has spent eight months paying my bills, sleeping four hours a night, and lying to me about how scared she is. So if she's in trouble because of you—”
“She's not,” Damian said.
Maya stopped.
He stepped farther into the room.
“She found something connected to my family. That made her a target before she ever knew my name.”
“Then make her not a target.”
“I intend to.”
Something about his answer satisfied her more than reassurance would have.
Maya leaned back against her pillow.
“Good.”
I exhaled.
“Can we please stop negotiating my life?”
“No,” Maya and Damian said simultaneously.
They looked at each other.
I groaned.
“This is already terrible.”
A doctor entered ten minutes later.
Dr. Shah had been leading Maya's transplant team for weeks.
He smiled when he saw me.
“You made it.”
“I always make it.”
His expression softened.
Then became professional.
“We received the final donor confirmation.”
My heart jumped.
Maya straightened.
“And?” I asked.
“The donor remains eligible. Compatibility testing is excellent.”
Maya's fingers tightened around mine.
Dr. Shah continued.
“If everything stays on schedule, we'll begin conditioning in four days.”
I felt tears building.
Good tears.
Terrifying tears.
“Four?”
“Yes.”
Maya smiled.
For months, everything had been waiting.
Another test.
Another approval.
Another delay.
Now there was a date.
Four days.
“There's administrative paperwork downstairs,” Dr. Shah said. “Financial services will need to finish authorization today.”
My stomach dropped.
Financial services.
Thirty-five thousand dollars.
Dr. Shah noticed.
“You can speak with Ms. Patel after seven.”
I nodded.
“Of course.”
He left after checking Maya's chart.
My sister waited until the door closed.
“How much?”
I looked away.
“How much?”
“Maya—”
“Tell me.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“Thirty-five.”
“Hundred?”
Silence.
Her face fell.
“Thousand?”
“It's manageable.”
She laughed.
Not because it was funny.
“You don't have thirty-five thousand dollars.”
“I'll figure it out.”
“With what?”
“I have savings.”
“You have four thousand dollars.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because we're sisters and you use the same password for everything.”
“You went into my bank account?”
“I was bored.”
“Maya.”
She started crying.
That ended my anger instantly.
“We can wait.”
“No.”
“The transplant doesn't have to—”
“No.”
I stood.
“You are not delaying anything.”
“You can't destroy your life for me.”
“Watch me.”
“I mean it.”
“So do I.”
Maya wiped her face.
“You already dropped out of your program.”
“Temporary leave.”
“You work every shift anyone gives you.”
“I like carrying drinks for hedge fund managers with personality disorders.”
From the doorway, Damian said, “Some of them are perfectly pleasant.”
I turned.
“This is private.”
“Sorry.”
He disappeared from view.
Maya almost smiled through tears.
Then she became serious again.
“I don't want you borrowing from dangerous people.”
I froze.
Interesting choice of words.
“You aren't,” I said.
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
At least I thought it was true.
Ten minutes later, Maya finally fell asleep.
I stepped into the hallway.
Damian was standing near the window.
He had heard everything.
I knew he had.
“Don't,” I said.
“I haven't said anything.”
“You were going to.”
He turned.
“I can pay it.”
“No.”
“Thirty-five thousand dollars is—”
“No.”
“To me, it's nothing.”
“That is exactly why the answer is no.”
His brow furrowed.
“You considered selling my father's watch.”
“That was before I knew it was your father's.”
“You were willing to sell an unknown antique but not accept money freely offered?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because an antique doesn't expect something later.”
His expression went still.
“You think I'd expect payment.”
“I think nobody gives thirty-five thousand dollars to a stranger for no reason.”
“I have a reason.”
“What?”
Damian looked toward Maya's room.
“You were threatened because you found something connected to my family.”
“That isn't your fault.”
“It is my responsibility.”
“Those are not the same thing.”
He didn't answer.
I folded my arms.
“Besides, Maya would kill me.”
“She appears capable.”
“Extremely.”
A voice interrupted us.
“Damian.”
Adrian approached.
Something in his expression immediately changed the atmosphere.
Damian stepped away with him.
I shouldn't have followed.
I did anyway.
Adrian held his phone low.
“We found Rossi.”
“Where?”
“His apartment.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
Relief hit me unexpectedly.
Then Adrian continued.
“He says he never came back to the restaurant after eleven.”
I stared.
“What?”
Adrian looked at me.
“He says you haven't spoken to him since the afternoon staff meeting.”
“That is a lie.”
“Maybe.”
“I talked to him. He handed me the key.”
“What was he wearing?”
“White shirt. Black vest. Gray tie.”
Adrian showed me a photograph.
Mr. Rossi entering his apartment building at 12:08 a.m.
Different tie.
Same vest.
“His building camera shows him going inside,” Adrian said. “No footage of him leaving.”
“That doesn't mean anything.”
“No.”
“But?”
“His phone connected to his home Wi-Fi continuously until three twenty.”
I felt dizzy.
“Then who gave me the card?”
Damian turned toward me.
“Think.”
“It was Rossi.”
“Did you see his face clearly?”
“Of course I—”
I stopped.
Had I?
I replayed the moment.
I had been exhausted.
The restaurant lighting near the service hallway was dim.
Mr. Rossi had come from his office.
Or I had assumed he had.
He wore the uniform.
Same build.
Same graying hair.
But had I actually looked at him?
“You talked to him,” Damian said.
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“The penthouse needed turning over. Cleaning crew left. If you came home to dirty glasses, we'd both lose our jobs.”
Adrian's eyes narrowed.
“Would Rossi say that?”
I thought.
Mr. Rossi was arrogant.
Impatient.
But he had worked at the Obsidian Room for eleven years.
He knew Damian wasn't his direct employer.
He never referred to Damian as though he controlled staff decisions.
“No.”
My voice became quiet.
“No, he wouldn't.”
Damian's expression hardened.
Someone had impersonated my manager.
Someone had deliberately placed a master key in my hand.
“Why send me upstairs?” I whispered.
Adrian answered.
“Maybe they knew you had the watch.”
I looked at Damian.
“If they knew, why not just take it from me?”
“That is exactly what bothers me.”
His phone rang.
Damian glanced at the screen.
He didn't answer.
“What?” Adrian asked.
“Vincent.”
My stomach tightened.
“Your uncle?”
Damian nodded.
The phone stopped.
Then rang again.
He answered this time.
“Uncle.”
I could hear only a faint voice.
Damian's expression remained unreadable.
“No. I'm at the hospital.”
Pause.
“Someone I know.”
Another pause.
He looked directly at me.
“Yes. I'll come by later.”
He ended the call.
“What did he want?” I asked.
“To know why my security people are asking questions about the Obsidian Room.”
Adrian muttered something under his breath.
“How did he know?” I asked.
Damian slipped his phone away.
“Excellent question.”
“Did you ask him about the alley?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because if Vincent is innocent, I refuse to accuse the man who raised me based on one photograph.”
“And if he's guilty?”
Damian looked toward the city.
“Then I want him comfortable enough to make a mistake.”
I shivered.
Adrian's phone vibrated.
He read something.
Then handed it to Damian.
Damian's face changed.
“What?”
He didn't answer.
“Damian.”
That was the first time I called him by his first name.
He noticed.
Then showed me the screen.
It was a photograph.
A hospital document.
Maya's treatment estimate.
My name.
Her name.
Our address.
Every financial figure.
At the bottom, someone had circled the remaining balance.
$35,000.
The photograph had been sent anonymously to Adrian less than a minute earlier.
Under it was one message.
THE WATCH FOR THE GIRL'S TREATMENT.
My stomach dropped.
Another message arrived.
MIDNIGHT TOMORROW.
Then a third.
COME ALONE.
I stared at the phone.
Thirty-five thousand dollars.
Exactly what I needed.
Exactly what I had wanted when I first picked the watch up in the snow.
Someone knew.
Someone knew about Maya.
Someone knew the amount.
May you like
And whoever it was believed desperation would make me betray Damian Russo.
The worst part was that, twelve hours earlier, they might have been right.
