Chapter 3 - The Meaning of the Stars
Vincent Kane looked down at the wrinkled page. The handwriting belonged to a tired hand, carefully documenting seventy-hour work weeks spanning across spring and summer.
His broad hand rested flat beside the paper. "What do the stars mean?" Vincent asked softly.
Rory looked down at her shoes, her small fingers clutching the edge of her red cardigan.
"Those are the nights we didn't eat dinner," Rory whispered quietly.
A stillness settled over the corner booth so absolute that even the clinking of champagne glasses across the room seemed to fade into nothingness.
Marco Russo’s hand tightened against his side, his jaw setting into a hard, rigid line.
Vincent didn't move for three full seconds. The cold gray-blue of his eyes darkened, settling into a terrifying, icy focus. He slowly turned his head away from the paper and looked across the polished dining room toward the bar.
David Sterling was still laughing, tossing his Porsche keys into the air and catching them with a smug grin.
Then David caught Vincent Kane staring at him.
David’s smile vanished instantly. The color drained from his face as the sheer weight of Vincent’s gaze slammed into him like a physical wall. The leather key fob slipped through his numb fingers and hit the hardwood floor with a sharp clatter.
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At that moment, Emily stepped out from the kitchen carrying a tray of coffee cups. She spotted Rory standing beside the city's most dangerous mob boss and froze in absolute, breathless panic, the tray trembling in her hands.
Vincent calmly rose from his chair, taking the paper with him.
