de, neon from Rockefeller Center smeared across the reinforced privacy glass.

knees drawn in to look small and harmless. Her gown hem was da

t to a leather‑bound merger brief. He flipped through pages with cold, m

enger seat and held out a steaming por

uld we stop at NewYork‑Presbyterian for an eva

Her fingers rattled slightly agains

st shaken." She dropped her gaze. "I do not want

ge. He did not lift his head,

l dog tag. She held it under the dim overhead reading light. It bore A

tal against her throat,

e carried quiet grief. "Byron told me he kept it at the club.

rp breath, as if she could not b

r hours by the bay window in Long Island, calling Father's name. Doctors say old mementos c

poke in

. Arden had died from shrapnel wounds decades ago; Antone had live

e empty seat beside him and fixed his full attention

ht?" Antone sounded calm, but underlying anger li

r Columbia finance interns. He said not to bother him with small

ing on a fresh scratch she had

on family is falling apart faster than their balan

oward the f

s,

sed venue in the Meatpacking District before dawn. If those two men are still w

d, sir. St

er head, eyes w

r power over this. If Byron traces this

is not about you. This is about the

cket and leaned across the console. The smell of

oth out toward her. "A Turner does

ef. Their skin brushed. A sharp e

from her eyes to her lips, then to the pulse beating in he

tared out the rain‑wet East Central Park

lusive old limestone co‑op. A white‑gloved doorman

the carpeted curb. She turned back to the shad

me home, Uncle Antone.

of his jaw visible in the glass. Right before the h

ing. I will visit Gottlieb

ammed shut

watched the Maybach's red taillights m

ft her. Her back went straight. No more fake tears. She tucked Anton

ce to break the Cannons' pride. And she had already h