Chapter 2 - THE MAN HE WAS SUPPOSED TO KILL
Tristan had his father's gun halfway into his holster when Nomi said something that stopped him cold.
"Vincent wasn't the only man in that room."
Her voice came from the office doorway.
Tristan turned.
She stood barefoot against the dark mahogany frame, still wearing his oversized gray T-shirt. Her face was pale, and one hand rested protectively against her injured ribs.
"What room?"
"The room where he hurt me."
Tristan slowly removed the gun from his holster and placed it on the desk.
"Tell me."
Nomi swallowed.
"First, promise me you won't leave before I finish."
He had made promises to dangerous men and broken them without losing sleep.
But looking at her, he understood that this promise would cost him something.
"All right."
Nomi entered the office.
She noticed the open wall safe, the ledger pushed aside, and the gun resting beside Tristan's phone.
"You were really going to kill him."
"Yes."
"And start a war?"
"If that's what it takes."
She shook her head.
"That's the problem with men like you. You always think a gun is the answer."
Tristan said nothing.
"Sometimes," she whispered, "it's exactly what the other person wants."
The phone vibrated.
Elias.
Tristan ignored it.
Nomi looked surprised.
"You're not answering?"
"You're talking."
For the first time that night, something in her expression softened.
Then she reached beneath the collar of his shirt and pulled out a thin silver chain.
Attached was a small, scratched St. Christopher medal.
"My father gave me this when I was seventeen."
Tristan recognized the medal immediately.
Not because he had seen Nomi wearing it before.
Because he had seen another one.
Eleven years earlier.
Around the neck of a dying man.
"Where did you get that?" he asked.
"I told you. My father."
"What's his name?"
Nomi hesitated.
"Daniel Mercer."
Tristan stared at her.
The name moved through him like an old wound being reopened.
Daniel Mercer.
His father's former bookkeeper.
The man who had disappeared eleven years ago after allegedly stealing two million dollars from the family.
The man Tristan had been told was a traitor.
The man whose disappearance had nearly started the last Moretti war.
"Your father was Daniel Mercer?"
Nomi's eyes narrowed.
"You knew him?"
Tristan sank slowly into his chair.
"He worked for my family."
"I know."
"You knew?"
"Of course I knew. That's why I'm here."
The office seemed to grow smaller.
Three months earlier, Nomi had arrived through a favor requested by Tristan's dying friend, Raymond Ellis.
Raymond had called her a young woman who needed somewhere safe until she found an apartment.
Tristan had asked few questions.
Raymond had saved his life once.
That had been enough.
"Raymond knew who you were?" Tristan asked.
Nomi nodded.
"He knew everything."
Tristan looked toward the framed map of Sicily covering his open safe.
Raymond had died six weeks earlier.
Whatever he knew had gone into the ground with him.
Or so Tristan had believed.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because my father told me never to trust your family."
The words landed hard.
Tristan leaned forward.
"Then why come here?"
"Because before Raymond died, he told me something else."
She tightened her fingers around the medal.
"He said you weren't like your father."
Tristan looked away.
His father had been a ruthless man.
He had built the family's empire through intimidation, money, and carefully arranged disappearances.
Tristan had inherited that empire seven years earlier.
He had never pretended it was clean.
But he had tried to make it less cruel.
Some days, he wondered whether that distinction mattered.
"What does this have to do with Vincent?"
Nomi sat opposite him.
"Vincent knows who my father was."
"And?"
"He thinks my father left something behind."
"What?"
"A record of payments. Names. Dates. Things people did that they thought nobody could prove."
Tristan felt his jaw tighten.
A ledger.
His father had spent years searching for Daniel Mercer's missing ledger.
Nobody had ever found it.
"Vincent believes you have it?"
"He did. Until last Thursday."
"What happened Thursday?"
Nomi's gaze fell to the carpet.
"He took me to a warehouse near the south-side docks."
Tristan's hands curled into fists.
"He said I could either tell him where the records were or watch him destroy the last thing my father left me."
"The medal?"
"No."
She reached into the pocket of the gray shirt.
Slowly, she withdrew a small photograph.
The edges were worn, and a crease ran across the middle.
It showed a smiling dark-haired man beside a teenage girl standing in front of a yellow house.
Daniel Mercer.
And Nomi.
Tristan recognized the house.
He had been there once.
The night Daniel vanished.
"Vincent took that picture?"
"He took everything from my apartment. But I got this back when he wasn't looking."
She turned it over.
On the back, written in faded blue ink, were six words.
Trust the man who refuses orders.
Tristan stopped breathing for a moment.
He recognized the handwriting.
It wasn't Daniel's.
It belonged to Raymond Ellis.
"Raymond wrote this?"
Nomi nodded.
"Three days before he died."
Tristan read the words again.
Raymond had known he was dying.
He had also known something Tristan didn't.
"Who else was at the warehouse?" Tristan asked.
Nomi's hands began to shake.
"A man in a dark coat. I never saw his face."
"Did he speak?"
"Only once."
"What did he say?"
She looked up.
"He told Vincent not to damage my hands."
Tristan felt a cold pressure behind his ribs.
"Why?"
"Because he said I'd still be needed to open something."
Before Tristan could respond, his office phone began ringing.
Elias again.
This time, Tristan answered.
"Talk."
"We found Vargo," Elias said.
"Where?"
"Inside a private dining room at the Calder Hotel. He's with two Moretti men."
"Keep watching."
"Boss, there's something else."
Tristan glanced at Nomi.
"What?"
"Vargo put a contract out tonight."
"On whom?"
There was a pause.
"Not you."
Tristan's eyes hardened.
"Then who?"
"He's offering half a million dollars for Nomi Mercer. Alive."
Tristan slowly stood.
"Nobody touches her."
"Understood. But boss, the contract says something strange."
"Read it."
Elias cleared his throat.
"'Subject must be delivered unharmed before the Wednesday transfer. Her cooperation is necessary to authenticate the original.'"
Tristan looked toward the photograph.
"What original?"
"We don't know."
Nomi had gone completely still.
"Tristan?"
He lowered the phone.
"What is it?"
She stared at the photograph in his hand.
"Wednesday?"
"Yes."
Her face drained of color.
"That's when Vincent said the harbor accounts would be closed."
"What harbor accounts?"
She shook her head.
"There's something I didn't tell you."
Tristan waited.
Nomi touched the silver medal hanging against her chest.
"My father didn't steal two million dollars."
"I know he was accused."
"No."
Her voice broke.
"You don't understand."
She looked directly into Tristan's eyes.
"My father stole something much more valuable."
"What?"
Nomi took a ragged breath.
"Proof that your father and the Moretti family were secretly working together."
Tristan stared at her.
For eleven years, he had believed the previous war began because Daniel Mercer betrayed both families.
Nomi's next words destroyed that belief.
"And Tristan?"
May you like
"Yes?"
"Vincent told me the man who ordered my father's disappearance is still running your organization."
