Chapter 21
AURORA
Iwake at the waterfront house feeling steadier than I expected. The argument with Adrian hasn’t vanished, but last night clarified something I’ve been circling for weeks. He’s afraid, not manipulative, and the difference matters enough to build on.
Adrian leaves early for an urgent meeting tied to Karpov’s port activity.
Before he goes, he sits on the edge of the bed and tells me exactly where he’ll be, when he expects to return, and what security changes Viktor put in place overnight.
He runs through each detail without prompting, and the transparency calms me more than the armed men outside the door ever could. He’s learning. He heard me.
He kisses my forehead and leaves. I lie in bed for ten more minutes, press my hand against my stomach, and let myself imagine a morning where the biggest decision is what to eat for breakfast.
Fedor brings the sketch artist at ten. She walks in wearing torn jeans, a black tank top, and combat boots that have seen actual combat with pavement. She looks like she’s sixteen. She says she’s nineteen. Neither of those numbers is probably accurate.
“I’m Gallows.” She drops a battered messenger bag on the kitchen table and pulls out a tablet and stylus that look significantly newer than anything else she owns. “Where’s the face I’m drawing?”
“I’m the face.” I sit across from her. “I mean, I’m the person who saw the face.”
“Right.” She pulls up a blank canvas on the tablet. “Start with the shape. Round, square, long, or heart?”
We spend forty-five minutes building the composite.
Gallows works fast, adjusting proportions and features as I describe them, and she has an instinct for asking the right questions at the right time.
When I hesitate on the jawline, she offers three variations and watches my reaction to each one before I speak.
When I correct the spacing between his eyes, she makes the adjustment before I finish explaining.
“You’re good at this.”
“I’m good at faces.” She doesn’t look up from the tablet. “People are harder.”
The composite takes shape. He’s mid-thirties, with angular features and deep-set eyes under a prominent brow.
It’s a face that could disappear in a crowd or draw attention, depending on what he wants it to do.
Gallows adds the last detail, a slight asymmetry around the left eye that I remembered from the restaurant when he took off his sunglasses, and turns the tablet toward me.
“That’s him.” The recognition is immediate and visceral. “That’s exactly him.”
“Good.” She saves the file, emails it to an address Fedor provides, and starts packing her bag.
She moves quickly, already angling toward the door, and I realize she’s uncomfortable being in a house this large with this many armed men.
She’s comfortable with the work but uncomfortable with the luxury.
“Can I get you anything before you go? Coffee, food, or anything?”
She stiffens slightly. “I’m good.” Then she glances at the espresso machine and her face cracks for half a second. “Is that a La Marzocca?”
“I think so. Adrian would know the model number, the serial number, and the name of the person who installed it.”
She almost smiles before catching herself. “Nice machine.” She slings her bag over her shoulder and heads for the door without looking back.
Fedor walks her to the car, and I hear them exchange a few words in the hallway. After the car drives away, I join Fedor in the kitchen. “Tell me about her.”
Apparently, he didn’t bring his usual thermos today, because he pours himself coffee from the machine he still hasn’t learned to operate correctly, producing something that looks more like muddy water than americano.
“She’s a runaway. Certainly not nineteen and probably not named Gallows.
She won’t accept charity, so we find ways to let her earn money sometimes, like the sketch work, document filing, and other small jobs that keep her busy and don’t get her arrested. ”
“How long has she been on her own?”
“At least two years. She sleeps in the warehouse district near the port. My people watch out for her since she’s made part of our territory her usual home.
” He takes a sip of his terrible coffee.
“Adrian noticed her about a year ago when she was sketching faces at a café for tips. He paid her to draw the harbor from memory, and the result was good enough that Viktor started using her for composites. She won’t take anything that looks like a handout, but she’ll work. ”
I think about the criminal empire Adrian is planning to dismantle and the people who depend on it.
I’ve been thinking about it abstractly, as networks, shipping routes, and shell companies.
Gallows makes it concrete. Adrian’s organization doesn’t just employ men with guns and encrypted phones.
It shelters a teenage artist who won’t accept help unless it comes disguised as a paycheck.
The world I’m asking him to leave isn’t entirely dark. Parts of it are holding fragile people in place, and those parts matter too.
I spend the late morning reviewing hospitality program materials and drafting a transfer plan.
The next intake is realistic if I push, but the one after gives me more time with the babies before classes start.
I make notes on both timelines and try to think about course loads and childcare logistics like they’re problems with solutions instead of fantasies that require a world that doesn’t currently exist.
Around noon, I call Marisol. “I need to tell you something, and I want you to hear all of it before you react.”
She sounds wary. “That opening is never reassuring but go ahead.”
“I want to be with Adrian. I’m tired of pretending I have to choose between loving him and respecting myself.
He’s not perfect, and the situation is dangerous, but I went to a college advising center last week because he asked what I’d choose if survival stopped being my first priority.
He treats my ambition like it’s real, and he’s restructuring his entire operation to build us a life that doesn’t require armed guards. ” I pause. “I’m done hedging.”
Marisol is quiet for a beat. “I was just about to call you.”
“About what?”
“Eric left a letter for you on my doorstep.”
I stiffen. “When?”
She sounds grim. “This morning. There was no envelope. Just a folded sheet of paper tucked under my welcome mat. I found it when I left for work.” She takes a breath. “I’m going to read it to you.”
She reads. Eric’s handwriting, which I remember as precise and slanted, translates through Marisol’s voice into something cold.
He says he’s relaying this through Marisol because he knows she knows where I am, even if she isn’t brave enough to go against Adrian.
He claims he has proof that Karpov, Dominic, and part of the investigation were tied together long before Dominic died, and that someone close to me will be dragged into it next if I continue ignoring him.
Then he mentions Denise’s workplace by name, the chiropractic office in Coral Gables where my mother has worked as a massage therapist for twelve years.
He includes the suite number and her usual schedule, which means he’s either been there or he pulled the information from records he still has access to despite his suspension.
I get cold. Not angry. Just cold that starts deep and moves outward until my fingers go numb, and I can barely breathe.
I know exactly what he’s doing. He’s using my mother as leverage to force a meeting.
It’s the same kind of tactics he deployed during our relationship.
He always found the one pressure point that bypassed my defenses, and my mother has always been the primary one.
He knows I’ll absorb any threat directed at me, but I’ll act on any threat directed at her.
The last part of the letter is directing me where to meet him.
“Aurora? Are you still there?” Marisol sounds worried after reading that part. “You aren’t going, right?”
I ignore that question. “He says he’ll be waiting at the marina café.” I hear my own voice from a distance. “He named a specific one, which means he’s tracked me to the general area.”
“Don’t go. Aurora, do not go.”
“I have to find out if the threat to my mother is real or manufactured.”
Marisol curses in Spanish, which is the only way I’ve ever heard such words from her. Her Latin roots come out when she’s stressed, emotional, or angry. “Call Adrian. Let him handle it, mija.”
I shake my head though she can’t see it. “Adrian will send ten armed men and turn a café into a crime scene. I need to force Eric into the open and find out if the threat to my mother is real. If it is, I need to know before he has time to act on it.”
She exhales harshly. “Don’t be estupido. If you’re going to do this, take Fedor at least.”
“I’m taking Fedor and the full security detail.” I’m already walking toward the front of the house. “They won’t dress down this time. I want Eric to see exactly who’s standing behind me and decide if his proof is worth delivering in front of witnesses.”
“Aurora, this is a bad idea, you know it’s a bad idea, and you’re going anyway because Eric pushed the one button that overrides your judgment. That’s what he does. That’s what he’s always done.”
She’s completely right, and I’m going anyway. “I know. I’ll call you when it’s done.”
“Aurora…”
I hang up. I regret cutting her off immediately, but if I listen to one more word of reason, I’ll stop, and I can’t stop because my mother’s name is in that letter, and it’s a threat, not a warning.
Fedor is in the kitchen. I tell him I need to go to the marina café and meet someone. He goes from neutral to hostile before I finish the sentence. “Absolutely not.”
“I’m going, Fedor. You can come with me, or I’ll walk.”