Chapter 2 - Shadows in the Penthouse
Dante brought Lyra to his private compound in the East Hamptons—a heavily fortified oceanfront estate guarded by former tactical officers and secured with iron gates. For eight years, Lyra had lived beneath the city, moving through abandoned subway tunnels, steam vents, and forgotten construction caverns. The transition to silk sheets, warm hardwood floors, and quiet rooms was more terrifying to her than the concrete wilderness had ever been.
Dante sat across from her in his dimly lit study. A crystal decanter of amber whiskey sat between them, untouched.
"The man who ordered the hit on me three nights ago was Marcus Vance," Dante said, placing a surveillance photograph on the mahogany table.
Lyra’s eyes shifted to the photo. The man pictured was in his late fifties, dressed in an impeccably tailored navy suit, with cold gray eyes and slicked-back silver hair. Her hands did not shake, but the air around her seemed to drop several degrees.
"My uncle," she whispered.
"He took over Vance Global after your father’s death," Dante explained. "Over the last eight years, he built a partnership with the Russian syndicate operating out of Brighton Beach. They’ve been using Vance Global's private docks to move unregistered cargo—weapons, untraceable bonds, black-market tech. My family was the only obstacle keeping them from expanding into the Manhattan ports."
Lyra looked at her reflection in the dark glass window overlooking the Atlantic ocean. "The explosion on my father’s yacht wasn't an accident. I was on the lower deck when the charge went off. I saw the man who planted the device. He wore a signet ring with Marcus’s initials."
"Why didn't you go to the police?" Dante asked.
Lyra gave a dry, soft laugh that lacked any humor. "The police commissioner at the time was Marcus’s golf partner. The judges were on his payroll. If I had walked into a precinct, I would have died before the sun set. So I hid where no rich man ever looks: beneath his feet."
Dante leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. "Well, Marcus just tried to put a bullet in my heart, and he failed. Now he thinks you're dead, and he thinks I'm weakened. He has no idea who pulled me out of that alley."
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"What do you want, Dante?" Lyra asked, her violet-gray eyes locking onto his with fierce intensity.
"I want to burn his empire to the ground," Dante said calmly. "And I want to give you back your name."
