Chapter 4 - The Burner Phone on the Desk
The burner phone sitting in the center of the oak desk suddenly buzzed, vibrating against the polished wood with a harsh, synthetic whine that made everyone in the room freeze. Marcus drew his sidearm instantly, keeping his eyes fixed on the reinforced front door as if expecting it to cave inward at any second. Dante walked slowly across the wide-plank floor, his shadow stretching long against the exposed brick wall. He picked up the device, staring at the blocked caller ID flashing on the tiny monochrome screen before pressing the speaker button and tossing it back onto the wood.
"Dante," Arthur Sullivan’s voice filled the loft, smooth, measured, and entirely devoid of panic. "I have to admit, I didn't think your little stray dog had it in her to reach all the way into my private safe. Impressive footwork. But utterly pointless."
Dante leaned his palms against the edge of the desk, towering over the small plastic phone. "Your ledger is sitting right here in front of me, Arthur. Every numbered account, every bribed city councilman, every dead drop from here to the harbor."
A low, dry chuckle came through the speaker. "Paper can be burned, Dante. And people—well, hospital patients have a habit of suffering sudden, unfortunate relapses when they try to leave care prematurely. You took what's mine, and I want it back. Bring the book to the south pier in forty-five minutes, alone, and maybe I'll let the girl live long enough to deliver her brat."
My breath hitched in my throat, and I started to rise from the armchair, but Dante raised a single tattooed hand without looking back at me, signaling me to stay still.
"You don't have any leverage left, Sullivan," Dante said, his voice dropping into a register so cold it made the hairs on my arms stand up. "I'm not bringing you the book. I'm bringing the federal indictment. Your house of cards is already falling."
"You arrogant bastard—" Arthur started, his calm facade finally cracking around the edges.
Dante pressed the end call button with his thumb, cutting the connection mid-sentence. The silence rushed back into the loft, heavier and more suffocating than before. Marcus let out a slow breath, holstering his weapon.
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"He's moving," Marcus said, tapping the keyboard. "That call bounced off a relay tower near midtown. He's dispatching his primary cleanup crew to our old safehouse across town."
Dante turned around, his eyes locking onto mine with an unyielding, fierce determination. "He thinks he can hide behind his lawyers and his private guards. We're not waiting for morning. We hit him where he lives."
