Chapter 2: Marcus Returns

2

Clang, clang.

The steel door outside opened.

Heavy, steady footsteps echoed on the concrete floor.

Someone was coming.

Listening carefully, it wasn’t Tony, the one who usually brought me food.

I shrank into the corner, watching fearfully as the figure approached.

He held a whiskey bottle, the stench of alcohol filling the cell.

He took out a cigarette and lit it.

The flame illuminated his face—sharp features, chiseled jaw, wolfish eyes glinting coldly.

Even after five years, I recognized him instantly.

My former lover, boss of the Delaney Crew: Marcus Delaney.

He leaned against the bars, smoking. The cell was silent, except for the faint crackle of burning tobacco.

"Lillian, long time no see."

His voice was low and hoarse.

I said nothing. I was no longer used to speaking.

"We’re getting outta here. Too many eyes, too many rats. But the crew? They want you dead. Hell, they all do."

Kill me? That would be a relief. I’d rather die.

"But I want your death to mean something. So, before you die, you have to help me with one thing."

He stepped closer, pinched my chin, forcing me to look at him.

His breath reeked of whiskey, his presence suffocating.

"I need you to lure Caleb Walker out."

I was calm—neither humble nor proud, neither sad nor joyful.

He grew furious.

In a rage, he slapped me across the face.

Blood suddenly gushed from my nose.

He hesitated. "I didn’t hit you that hard..."

He really hadn’t.

This nosebleed wasn’t from his slap.

It was my illness.

I knew I was gravely ill.

Death was near.

Since I was doomed anyway, why would I help Marcus Delaney hurt my husband?

Marcus wiped my blood away with his white shirt sleeve and pulled me into his arms.

I struggled, but he held me tight, his chin pressing against my head.

"Lillian, listen to me, listen to me." His voice was almost coaxing. "Did you see that little girl just now? Her name is Chloe. She’s your child. What you gave birth to that year wasn’t a dead baby—she survived. If you help me take down Caleb Walker, I’ll spare Chloe’s life. If you refuse, I’ll put Chloe in your arms and watch you both disappear into the Atlantic. You get me?"

I stopped struggling.

A cold sweat broke out along my spine, the kind you get when someone hands you a loaded gun and asks you which way to point it. Chloe. My mind spun, tripping over her name—how could she be alive? My heart hammered as I tried to process the impossible, the terrible, the hope and horror all tangled together. And his threat: so American in its direct violence, no grand speeches, just the ugly edge of a promise you know he’ll keep.