Chapter 17 The Silence of the Grave
Isabella’s POV
I didn’t walk back to the apartment.
I fled.
Not in a straight line. Not gracefully. I stumbled through the night like someone who had just seen behind the curtain and realized the monster wasn’t a myth.
He didn’t have horns.
He had silver eyes and a perfectly tailored suit.
My legs shook so violently I could barely trust them. Every shadow looked alive. Every passing car sounded like it was slowing down for me.
By the time I reached Sarah’s building, my lungs were burning and the bottle of flu medicine was crushed nearly flat in my fist.
I jammed the key into the lock. It scraped too loudly in the silent hallway, metallic and accusing.
The door opened.
I collapsed against it, dragging in air that still tasted like river water and smoke.
“Isa?” Sarah’s voice drifted from the bedroom, hoarse with fever but instantly alert. “What took you so long? You look like you just saw your own funeral.”
I didn’t answer.
I couldn’t.
I walked into her room and sat on the edge of her bed. My hands were trembling so hard the mattress vibrated beneath me.
“Isa,” she said again, sitting up. Her skin was flushed from fever, her eyes glassy. “You’re scaring me. What happened?”
I stared at the wall.
“He killed him.”
The words didn’t sound real. They sounded borrowed.
“What?”
“He just…” My throat tightened. “He put the gun to his head. And he pulled the trigger. No hesitation. No argument. Nothing. Like it was paperwork.”
The color drained from Sarah’s face.
I told her everything. The charcoal car. The man begging. The splash in the river. The way Alexander had wiped his cheek afterward, like he’d spilled wine on himself.
“I have to call the police,” I whispered. The idea felt fragile and desperate, but it was something. “I saw him. I witnessed it. I have to report it before I lose my nerve.”
“No.”
She moved so fast it startled me, her fever-hot hands gripping my shoulders with a strength that didn’t match how sick she looked.
“Isabella, look at me,” she said, her voice harsh with urgency. “If you go to the police, one of two things will happen: they’ll dismiss you… or they’ll call him.”
My heart lurched. “They can’t do that , ”
“This is New York,” she cut in. “He has half the force in his pocket and the other half on his holiday card list. One call to the wrong detective and he’ll know you were there. He’ll know you watched. And you’ve seen what he does to people who become a problem.”
“But he killed someone!” I cried, tears burning at the back of my eyes. “How am I supposed to go to work tomorrow and hand him a latte like I didn’t watch him execute a man?”
“Because he owns the city,” she snapped, pushing off the mattress and pacing, ignoring the way she swayed on her feet.
“He knows where you work. He knows where you sleep. For weeks he hasn’t come to the shop, he hasn’t texted , let it stay that way. If you report this, you’re not just some girl who served him coffee. You’re a witness. A liability. And we both know exactly how he handles liabilities.”
I shook my head, refusing, even as fear tightened its grip around my chest. “I can’t just let him get away with it.”
“Think about your life,” she pleaded, dropping back down to her knees in front of me. “The police won’t touch him. Men like Alexander don’t go to prison. They don’t stand in line and wait for justice. They buy outcomes. They erase problems.”
Her fingers closed around mine, burning hot.
“Telling the truth doesn’t protect you here,” she said softly. “It paints a target on your back. Calling the cops isn’t justice, Isa , it’s you lighting a match and handing it to him while you’re standing in gasoline.”
I squeezed my eyes shut.
“You cannot report this,” she whispered. “Let him stay in the shadows. If he’s forgotten about the little cat, let him. Do not be the one to remind the lion he left the cage door open.”
Her words settled over the room like a shroud.
In this city, men like Alexander Kingsley didn’t fear the law.
They erased the people who did.
I looked down at the bottle of medicine still crushed in my hand and felt something inside me fracture.
“Okay,” I whispered at last.
The word tasted like betrayal.
“Okay. We stay quiet.”