Chapter 3 - Ledgers and Lies
The Castello estate kitchen at three in the morning smelled faintly of roasted coffee beans and cold stone. A single overhead pendant light cast a harsh amber circle over the thick marble island, leaving the corners of the cavernous room in deep shadow. I sat on the edge of a high metal stool, my hands wrapped tightly around the cold glass of water Dante had given me. My fingers throbbed, the cracked skin of my knuckles stiff against the glass.
Dante stood on the opposite side of the counter. The dark cotton of his shirt was unbuttoned at the throat, exposing the dark ink of tattoos crawling up his neck and disappearing beneath his collar. He didn't look angry anymore, which somehow made the silence heavier. He reached down, sliding a heavy, spiral-bound ledger across the polished marble. It stopped an inch from my trembling fingertips.
"Open it, Sadi," he said. His voice was low, devoid of the sharp command he'd used in the hallway, but it carried an absolute weight that left no room for refusal.
I hesitated, my breath catching in my throat. I looked from the book up to his dark, unblinking eyes. Slowly, I reached out, my bruised fingers sliding the cover back. Inside, neat columns of handwriting detailed names, dates, and staggering numerical figures. About halfway down the third page, my brother's name stared back at me in bold ink: Leo Hayes — Table Four — Balance: $42,000.
"I didn't know it was this high," I whispered, the words catching like dry dust in my throat. "It started small. Just a couple of hundred for a car repair. He thought he could win it back in one night. He's just a kid, Mr. Castello. He doesn't know how these people operate."
"No," Dante said, leaning his weight onto his palms against the counter, bringing himself closer. "He doesn't. But you should have known better than to try and cover it by cleaning silver that isn't yours in a house like this. You thought a week's wages would satisfy them?"
"I was desperate," I snapped back, a sudden spike of protective fury cutting through the terror. I pulled my hands back, pressing them flat against my thighs to hide the shaking. "What would you do if it was your family? You think I wanted to steal time or ask for advances? They called me while I was scrubbing the east wing baseboards. They said if I didn't pay the interest by dawn, they'd break both his legs in front of our apartment building. What was I supposed to do?"
Dante didn't flinch at my tone. He simply reached out and tapped a finger against the bottom corner of the ledger page, right beside a small, stylized stamp of a coiled serpent holding a dagger in its jaws.
"You were dealing with amateurs who outsourced their muscle," Dante said quietly. "That mark belongs to Marcus Vance. He operates out of the warehouses near the downtown docks. He runs a network of underground card games designed to trap people exactly like your brother, load them up with interest they can never clear, and then use their families for leverage or worse."
The name hit me like a physical blow. Marcus Vance. Even among the cleaning staff, whispers of Vance drifted through the halls—stories of men who went into the harbor district and never came back out.
"Vance?" I breathed, the water glass slipping from my numb fingers to clatter against the marble, though it didn't spill. "They... they told me they were independent. They said they answered to no one."
"They answer to Vance, and Vance answers to no code that operates on this side of the river," Dante replied, straightening up. He walked around the island, his heavy boots clicking rhythmically against the stone floor, and stopped just a few feet away from my stool. He looked down at me, his expression unreadable beneath the shadow of the pendant light. "Your brother didn't just borrow money, Sadi. He signed a promissory note with his life, and by extension, he brought Vance's business onto my property."
"I'll leave," I said instantly, scrambling off the stool, my legs shaking so badly I almost stumbled. "I'll pack my things right now. I won't bring them here. Just let me go to him—"
"Sit down," Dante said, his hand catching my shoulder. His grip wasn't tight, but it was an immovable wall. The heat of his palm burned through the black fabric of my maid uniform. "If you walk out those gates right now, Vance's men will pick you off before you reach the highway. Not because they care about you, but because they want to draw me out. Vance has been testing my perimeter for months."
I looked up at him, my heart hammering against my ribs. "You're going to help him?"
"I'm not helping your brother out of charity," Dante said, his dark eyes holding mine with a terrifying intensity. "Leo is an idiot, and you made a dangerous mistake trying to hide it. But nobody threatens anyone inside my estate, and nobody operates in my city without my permission."
He released my shoulder and stepped back toward the dark hallway leading to the front of the house.
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"Get some rest in the quarters," Dante added over his shoulder, not breaking his stride. "Tomorrow, we find out exactly how much Marcus Vance thinks he owns."
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