Chapter 3 - The Gathering of Wolves
The days leading up to Friday moved with the agonizing weight of an impending storm.
While Matteo coordinated his counter-strike behind closed doors, Elena stayed inside the St. Regis, trying to navigate the sudden, jarring transition from dire poverty to unimaginable luxury. Tailors arrived at the suite under strict confidentiality agreements, measuring Elena for silk evening gowns and fitting Sophie for a custom-made navy dress with silver trimmings.
Sophie, however, remained unfazed by the silk and cashmere. She spent most of her time sitting on the plush Persian rug in the suite's living room, teaching her one-eyed bear how to play simple piano exercises on the Steinway grand that Matteo had ordered delivered to the suite on Tuesday morning.
When the piano had arrived, Elena had stood in the doorway, staring at the polished black wood in silence.
"You didn't have to do this," Elena had told Matteo that evening when he dropped by for his mandatory one-hour visit—a boundary Elena had set to keep her sanity intact.
"You haven't played in six years," Matteo had replied simply, leaning against the doorframe, watching her with a quiet, burning intensity. "The piano at your apartment had tape on the bench and half the ivory was chipped off. You were born inside the notes, Elena. I remember."
"Don't," Elena had whispered, her heart fluttering painfully. "Don't pretend we can just go back to West 54th Street, Matteo. Too much blood has flowed under the bridge."
"I am not asking to go back," Matteo had said, his gray eyes locking onto hers with unwavering conviction. "I am building a new bridge. And I don't care how long it takes me to cross it."
By Thursday evening, Marco arrived at the suite with a secondary report. The atmosphere in the room grew instantly tense as Marco laid out a map of the Plaza Hotel's Grand Ballroom.
"Nico has been busy," Marco reported, adjusting his glasses. "He's placed four of his private security guys on the perimeter floor for tomorrow's event. Official reason? 'Heightened threat environment.' Unofficial reason? He's making sure no uninvited guests enter."
"He's paranoid," Matteo noted, swirling a glass of sparkling water. "He knows I’ve been digging into the Newark accounts."
"More than paranoid," Marco said lower. "I picked up a ping on an encrypted frequency today. Nico placed a call to a private security firm in New Jersey—the kind that specializes in 'clean-up' operations. He gave them an address."
Elena gasped, stepping forward. "My apartment?"
"Yes," Marco confirmed, looking at her with genuine sympathy. "They entered the 44th Street building at two o'clock this afternoon. They found an empty apartment. Nico knows you vanished, Miss Voss. Right now, his people are frantically searching Baltimore and Philadelphia, assuming you fled the city."
"Then he knows something is wrong," Elena said, her voice shaking.
"He knows you aren't where you were supposed to be," Matteo corrected, his voice dropping into a register that made the hair on the back of Sal's neck stand up. "But he thinks you ran from poverty. He thinks you gave up and moved away. He has no concept of the reality that you are sitting three miles away, wearing silk, preparing to pull the rug from beneath his feet."
"Matteo," Elena said, stepping closer to him, her eyes wide with sudden panic. "What happens when he sees us tomorrow? In front of all those people? What if he tries something desperate?"
May you like
Matteo reached out, his heavy, warm hand settling firmly over hers. The touch sent a shockwave of electricity through her entire arm—a ghost of the passion they had shared years ago, now hardened by purpose.
"The Plaza Ballroom will be guarded by sixty men who answer only to me, Elena," Matteo said, looking down into her eyes with total, absolute authority. "Sal will be standing two steps behind you. Marco will be at the main entrance. You and Sophie will be safer in that room than anywhere else on earth. Tomorrow night, Nico Caruso learns what happens when you strike a shadow and miss."
