Chapter 2
The iron gates of the Callahan headquarters creaked shut behind me.
Rain fell in thick, freezing sheets.
Black sedans idled in the driveway.
Dark windows.
Soldiers inside.
Eight years of protection, locked behind iron bars.
A truck passed and threw dirty water against my coat.
I didn't flinch.
I turned my collar up and walked toward the subway.
Across the street, two young Callahan soldiers stood under an awning.
One reached for an umbrella.
The older guard grabbed his shoulder.
The young one lowered his head and stepped back into the shadows.
No umbrella.
No escort.
I kept walking.
The rain soaked through my coat.
It ran down my neck.
I didn't care.
Cold was better than the heat still burning in my chest.
At the corner, a black sedan slowed beside me.
The window rolled down an inch.
A soldier I didn't recognize looked at me.
He didn't speak.
I looked back.
He rolled the window up and drove on.
Word was already out.
Nora Callahan was nobody now.
The subway platform smelled of rust and wet wool.
I sat on a cold metal bench and stared at my soaked shoes.
My hand closed around the ring in my pocket.
Eight years ago, Mason and I lived in a one-bedroom basement four stops down this line.
No consigliere.
No lawyers.
Just a blood-stained jacket and his dream of taking back his father's streets.
I gave up my name for that dream.
I gave up my father.
My seat at his table.
My blood.
For Mason.
Now he sat in a high-rise office, tossing out fifty-thousand-dollar checks like trash.
A train screeched to a halt.
Yellow headlights cut through the dark.
I stepped inside.
The car was almost empty.
An old woman sat across from me.
She looked at my wet coat.
She looked at my face.
She didn't ask questions.
Smart woman.
I stared at the reflection in the black window.
I didn't look like a Don's wife.
I looked like a drowned ghost.
By the time I reached St. Michael's Academy, the rain had softened to a drizzle.
The school looked like a fortress.
Grey stone.
Iron fences.
Heavy oak doors.
Inside the quiet lobby, the security guard didn't reach for a visitor badge.
His face went pale when he saw me.
"Mrs. Callahan," he stammered. "Ms. Prescott is already in the main office. She brought a court order."
Word traveled fast in this city.
Faster than paper.
I didn't answer him.
I walked past the marble desk.
My heels clicked against the stone floor.
Outside the director's office, the headmaster stood beside Blair.
His posture was stiff.
His forehead was slick with sweat.
He held a legal injunction.
"Of course, Ms. Prescott," he murmured. "We must comply with the updated custodianship."
Then he saw me.
His smile vanished.
"Miss Ashford," he said. "We are simply carrying out the administrative mandate."
The administrator beside him slid a thick blue file across the desk to Blair.
Right past my hands.
I looked at the file.
I looked at Blair.
She didn't blink.
She just smiled.
That smile told me everything.
This wasn't about paperwork.
This was about erasing me.