Chapter 5 - The Ledger of Secrets
"Talk to me about your father’s final months," Alessandro commanded, resting his elbows on the white tablecloth, studying her like a chess grandmaster examining an opponent’s opening move.
Sophie’s hands gripped the edge of the table. "My father was framed. The Swiss accounts weren't empty because of gambling debts; they were looted by the syndicate working under Viktor Vance, your primary rival on the docks."
Alessandro’s eyebrows arched slightly. "Vance? That is a heavy accusation."
"It’s not an accusation. It’s an inventory," Sophie said, leaning forward. "Before my father died, he managed to smuggle a physical micro-ledger out of Geneva. A ledger detailing every shell company, every payoff to local judges, and every maritime smuggling route Vargas and Vance share. And he gave it to the only person he trusted."
"You."
"Me," Sophie whispered. "That’s why I’m hiding in Manhattan. That’s why I’m scrubbing pots. Because if Vance’s men find out I have the ledger, I’ll end up at the bottom of the Hudson River."
Alessandro stared at her for a long, agonizing silence. The digital clock on the back bar ticked past 9:30 PM.
"You are remarkably foolish, Sophie," Alessandro said finally, though a strange, appreciative glint had appeared in his dark eyes. "You come to me—the head of the Moretti syndicate—and confess that you are holding the exact weapon Vance needs to destroy my shipping channels in the North River."
"I didn't come to you," Sophie corrected sharply. "You came to my table."
A genuine, rare laugh broke across Alessandro’s face—a sound that softened his hard features and made him look, for a fraction of a second, like a man rather than a myth.
"Touche," he said. He reached into his breast pocket and slid a heavy, solid-gold key card across the table. It was embossed with a subtle crimson crest. "My private penthouse at the Carlyle. The guards downstairs answer only to me. Move your things tonight."
May you like
Sophie looked at the key card as if it were a venomous snake. "And why would I trust you?"
"Because," Alessandro said, standing up and towering over the table, dropping a hundred-dollar bill onto the cloth for a two-dollar cup of coffee, "if Vance wants your ledger, he will burn this entire restaurant to the ground to get it. And unlike your current employer, I prefer my investments—and my waitresses—alive."
