Santi Costa is not a normal man.
I set the gun down on the scarred wood of the desk. My hands are steady. Panic is a useless emotion. Information is power.
I reach back into the bag. I find two extra magazines, loaded with hollow-point ammunition. I find a folding knife with a serrated edge and a carbon-steel blade. I find a secondary, smaller burner phone sealed in a waterproof casing.
Finally, I find a leather-bound folio. The leather is expensive. Custom stitching. I flip it open.
Inside is a single piece of paper. It is a printed ledger. Columns of numbers. Dates stretching back years. Names redacted with black ink. The only visible text at the top is a header:Bellanti Blind Trust - Ghost Signatory Verification.
This is what he came here for. This is why he chartered my helicopter. He is hunting a financial trail someone tried to bury.
The pieces snap together. The discipline. The intense, unblinking observation. The way he evaluates each threat with chilling pragmatism. He is not a businessman negotiating a corporate merger. He is a soldier fighting a war. A commander in an organized crime syndicate.
"Perfect." My voice echoes in the empty room. "Just perfect."
I am not a damsel. I have flown supplies into active conflict zones. I have landed aircraft on dirt strips in the middle of drug cartel territory. I do not spook easily. Bad men exist. Dangerous men exist. I usually avoid getting naked with them in the woods.
The iron crossbar rattles.
A loud knock echoes through the wood of the door. Two sharp raps. A pause. One final rap. A code.
I pick up the Glock. I hold it down by my side. I walk to the door.
I lift the iron crossbar.
The door sairframe open. Santi steps inside. He carries an armful of chopped firewood. Snow coats his shoulders and clings to his dark beard. The brutal chill of the storm rolls off him in waves.
His scent hits me before the cold does. It floods the small space, burying the burning pine. My chest tightens. My hands clench at my sides.
He kicks the door shut behind him. He dumps the wood into the metal bin next to the stove.
He turns to face me.
His eyes instantly track the weapon in my hand. He remains perfectly still. He does not reach for his weapon. He simply goes terrifyingly still. The aristocratic mask slips, revealing the lethal predator underneath.
"You found the bottom of the bag." His voice is level.
"I was looking for a bandage." I hold the gun steady. I do not point it at him. I just hold it. "I found tactical gear instead. Along with a very interesting financial ledger."
Santi watches my face. He is analyzing my grip on the weapon. He notes that my finger is resting safely outside the trigger guard. He notes my stance.
"You know how to hold it."
"My father taught me how to shoot when I was twelve." I shift my weight. "He told me that if I was going to fly helicopters, I needed to know how to protect myself when I landed in bad places. Looks like I crashed into a very bad place."
"You landed in my protection."
"Your protection comes with a suppressor and hollow-point rounds." I step closer to the fire. The heat warms my back. "The voice on the radio answered like you were in charge. You're not an executive, Santi."
He takes a slow step toward me. He stops three feet away. Close enough to cross the distance in a fraction of a second. Far enough to give me an illusion of space.
"My family controls the North Side of Chicago." He does not whisper. He states it as an empirical fact. "We run logistics. We run territory. We have enemies. The name at the top of that ledger belongs to the family that murdered my parents twenty years ago."
The blunt honesty hits me hard. He offers no excuses. No sugar-coated lies. He simply hands me the brutal truth.
"You chartered my helicopter to hunt them."
"I chartered your helicopter to follow a dead man's trail. A financial signature tied to the night they died. The intelligence pointed north." His expression hardens. The silver streaks in his hair catch the firelight as he looks down at me. "The helicopter crashed. The mission paused. You became my only priority."
