Chapter 2 - The Shadow of Montreal
The rain in Montreal was different from the rain in New York. It was sharper, colder, smelling of wet asphalt and old stone.
They stayed in a private residence overlooking the Saint Lawrence River, a heavily fortified penthouse owned by one of Lorenzo’s few remaining trustworthy associates from his former life. Hunter sat by the floor-to-ceiling window, holding a sleeping Leo against her chest. He was seven months old now, heavy and warm, his breathing steady against her neck.
In the next room, Lorenzo was on the phone. His voice was low, rhythmic, and deadly.
“I don't care about his offshore accounts, Anthony. Freeze them all. Talk to the Canadian authorities through our counsel in Toronto. If Vance tries to cross the border into France, I want his passport flagged for money laundering before he reaches the tarmac.”
Hunter stroked Leo’s soft curls. She had spent the last three days in a state of hyper-vigilance. Moving a baby across international borders while hunting down the man responsible for her daughter’s death was a madness she never thought she’d participate in. Yet, here she was.
The door opened quietly, and Lorenzo stepped into the room. He had dropped his suit jacket onto a chair, wearing only his white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The dark tattoos on his forearms—symbols of a life he was trying to bury—looked stark against his pale skin.
“He knows we’re here,” Lorenzo said quietly, sitting down on the edge of the leather sofa beside her.
“Is he running?”
“He’s trying to. He hired a private security team out of Detroit. Ex-military, heavily armed. He knows that with Matteo in federal custody, he has no shield left.” Lorenzo looked down at Leo, his expression softening instantly. He reached out and lightly ran his knuckles down the baby’s chubby cheek. “He tried to set up a meeting through a intermediary. He wants to trade.”
“Trade what?”
“He claims he has documents proving Matteo was working with federal agents to set me up five years ago. He thinks I’ll trade his freedom for evidence that could clear my name completely from any future civil lawsuits.”
Hunter looked up, meeting Lorenzo’s eyes. “Do you need those documents?”
“I don't give a damn about those documents, Hunter,” Lorenzo said without a second’s hesitation. “I care about the fact that he signed the work order that locked the emergency fire exits at the clinic to ensure the building burned completely.”
Hunter’s blood ran cold. He locked the exits.
The image of that night—the smoke, the sirens, the screaming mothers outside the barricades—flashed through her mind with terrifying clarity. For two years she had thought it was a tragedy of fate. Now she knew it was a calculated murder of innocent infants and nurses just to clear a city block for a high-rise luxury condo project.
“Where is the meeting?” she asked, her voice steady, stripped of all fear.
“At an abandoned grain silo in the Old Port,” Lorenzo said. “Tonight at midnight. I’m going alone.”
“No,” Hunter said immediately.
“Hunter, it’s dangerous. He’s desperate.”
“You’re not going alone, Lorenzo. Anthony and Marco are downstairs. You promised me no more secrets, and no more solo runs. If this man killed Lily, I want to look him in the eye when he realizes his money can’t save him.”
Lorenzo studied her face for a long moment. He saw the fierce, unyielding mother in her—the same woman who had stood in a rain-slicked docks six months ago, holding his bleeding son and defying a dozen armed men.
“Leo stays here with Anthony’s sister,” Lorenzo said firmly. “She’s a pediatric nurse, and Marco will be at the door with three men. No negotiations on that.”
“Agreed,” Hunter said.
He reached out, his hand wrapping around the back of her neck, gently pulling her forward until their foreheads touched. The heat between them was palpable, forged in grief, shared danger, and a quiet, undeniable love that neither of them had explicitly named yet.
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“I won't let him hurt you, Hunter,” Lorenzo murmured against her skin. “Not ever again.”
“He won't hurt either of us,” she replied, her hand coming up to rest over his heart, feeling its steady, powerful beat. “Because we aren't victims anymore.”
