Chapter 2 - THE LAST FOUR FEET
Raphael Corsetti caught Nora Pell before her head struck the floor.
He didn't remember moving.
One moment she was standing in his doorway, apologizing for being late with blood running down her face.
The next, she was falling.
And the man who had ordered executions without raising his voice was on his knees, holding a woman who weighed almost nothing in his arms.
“Nora.”
Her head rested against his chest.
“Nora, open your eyes.”
Nothing.
He pressed two fingers to her neck.
A pulse.
Fast.
Weak.
But there.
“MEDIC!” he roared.
The sound tore through the penthouse.
Footsteps thundered down the corridor.
Raphael looked at the young guard who appeared in the doorway.
“Call an ambulance. Now.”
The guard stared at Nora's bloodstained clothes.
“Boss, what happened?”
Raphael's eyes lifted.
“Do I look like I know?”
The guard disappeared.
Raphael carefully lowered Nora onto the carpet, supporting her head and keeping her body as still as possible.
Her right ankle was grotesquely swollen.
Her breathing was shallow.
And beneath the torn fabric of her blouse, dark bruising spread across her ribs.
He had seen injuries like these before.
He knew what they meant.
Someone had beaten her.
Badly.
And somehow, instead of going to a hospital, she had climbed forty-two floors to reach him.
“Nora,” he whispered.
Her eyelids fluttered.
“Mr. Corsetti?”
His throat tightened.
“I'm here.”
She tried to sit up.
He gently stopped her.
“Don't move.”
“The folder.”
“What?”
Her hand twitched toward her coat.
“Inside pocket.”
Raphael looked at the blood-soaked fabric.
“Forget the folder.”
“No.”
Her voice was barely audible.
“Please.”
He froze.
Nora Pell never said please.
Not when asking for overtime.
Not when correcting his financial projections.
Not when telling him that his most profitable subsidiary was bleeding money because his senior accountants were idiots.
She was the only person in his organization who could look him directly in the eyes and say, “That decision is mathematically indefensible.”
And now she was begging him.
Raphael carefully reached into her coat.
His fingers found a small envelope.
It was damp.
Bent.
And marked with blood.
Nora watched him through her swollen eye.
“Don't give it to Victor.”
Raphael went still.
Victor Salerno was his second-in-command.
The man who had run the Corsetti organization beside him for seventeen years.
“Why?”
Nora swallowed.
“Because he sent them.”
The room went silent.
Raphael stared at her.
“Who?”
Her lips trembled.
“The men in the garage.”
Raphael's blood turned cold.
Then Nora caught his wrist.
Her fingers were icy.
“Raphael.”
It was the first time she'd ever called him by his first name.
He leaned closer.
“Yes?”
She looked at the envelope.
“Your brother didn't kill himself.”
Raphael stopped breathing.
His younger brother, Luca, had died six years earlier.
A gunshot.
A locked office.
A suicide note.
Raphael had buried him beneath a white marble angel in Brooklyn.
Nora's eyes filled.
“I found the proof.”
May you like
Her fingers loosened.
And she lost consciousness again.
