Chapter 2 - Dust and Whispers
The office of Moretti Logistics was located in a renovated brick warehouse near the Chicago River, a far cry from the smoky backrooms where the family’s dirty business used to be conducted. Sienna had taken over the administrative duties, organizing the digital files, streamlining the shipping manifests, and ensuring that every dollar passing through the accounts was as clean as freshly fallen snow.
Dawson spent his days in the yard, checking the rigs, talking to the drivers, and using his physical strength to load crates when the crews were short-handed. The drivers respected him; they knew what he had been, but they also saw the quiet, disciplined man he was trying to become.
By mid-afternoon, a heavy spring rain began to fall, drumming against the tin roof of the warehouse. Sienna sat at her desk, rubbing her temple as she stared at a discrepancy in the Baltic Line manifests. The Baltic Line had been the old man’s pride and joy—a smuggling route that brought illicit goods from Eastern Europe into the heart of Chicago. Officially, it was shut down. But the digital ghost trail she was looking at suggested otherwise.
The door to her office clicked open. It wasn't Dawson.
A tall, lean man in a tailored gray suit stepped inside, shaking the rain off his black umbrella. He had sharp, avian features and eyes that looked like they had never seen a night of peaceful sleep.
"Can I help you?" Sienna asked, her voice instantly dropping into her defensive, 'Ice Queen' tone.
"Sienna Vance," the man said, his voice smooth and cold. "Or is it Moretti now? I hear the ceremony was private."
"Who are you?"
"My name is Victor Vance," the man said, offering a thin, humorless smile. "No relation to you, of course. I am a representative of the syndicate that financed the Baltic Line's last three shipments. The shipments that mysteriously vanished when Dawson Moretti decided to play savior and wipe the files."
Sienna’s heart gave a violent thud against her ribs, but her face remained entirely expressionless. "The Baltic Line is gone. The files are deleted. If you have a financial dispute, I suggest you take it up with Rocco or the old man."
"The old man is a useless husk basking in the Florida sun," Victor said, stepping closer to her desk. "And Rocco is a middleman. We don't deal with middlemen. We deal with the man who did the dirty work. Dawson Moretti owes us twelve million dollars in lost revenue. And if he doesn't pay, we will start taking our dividend out of his new life. Beginning with his beautiful, clever assistant."
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Sienna didn't flinch. She slowly reached into her desk drawer, her fingers wrapping around the grip of the small revolver Dawson had insisted she keep there.
Before she could pull it, the heavy wooden door of her office was nearly torn off its hinges. Dawson stood in the doorway, drenched in rain, his chest heaving, his dark eyes fixed on Victor with a terrifying, primal intensity.
