Chapter 3 No.3

The VIP suite at New York-Presbyterian Hospital smelled of antiseptic and lilies. Annelise lay in the bed, an IV line taped to the back of her hand. She had allowed the nurses to clean the soot from her face, but she had refused the sedative. She needed a clear head.

Francesco stood by the window, his back to her. He had changed his shirt, but his movements were stiff. The burn on his back had to be throbbing.

A man in a gray suit-one of the company lawyers-stood at the foot of the bed, holding a thick document.

"Ms. Phelps," the lawyer said, his tone bored. "Given the... sensitive nature of the incident, Mr. Lancaster has prepared a revised Non-Disclosure Agreement. In exchange for your silence regarding Preston Carson's involvement, the family is prepared to offer a significant settlement."

Annelise stared at the ceiling. "No."

The word was quiet, but it stopped the lawyer mid-breath.

Francesco turned around. It was the first time he had looked at her directly since they arrived.

"Excuse me?" the lawyer asked.

Annelise sat up. She didn't wince. She reached for the IV line on her hand and ripped the tape off. With a sharp tug, she pulled the needle out. Blood welled up, a bright red bead against her skin. She didn't even look at it.

"I said no," she repeated, her voice gaining strength. "I don't want your money."

"Everyone wants money, Annelise," Francesco said. He walked toward the bed. "Don't be naive. You have no leverage. You are a liability."

"The men who took me," she said, her voice trembling as if recalling the trauma, "they were livestreaming. They sent a link... to an account I can't access. I think... I think it recorded everything." She looked at him, her eyes wide with feigned helplessness. "The part where your nephew... leaves me."

The room went very quiet.

"I don't want money," Annelise continued, meeting Francesco's gaze. Her voice dropped to a desperate whisper. "I want safety. If I go back to my family, Preston will find me. He'll... he'll try to finish what he started, to keep me quiet. I know how people like him think."

She grabbed a napkin from the bedside table and a pen. She scribbled a string of characters.

"This is the login. I... I think this is it. It's the only copy. I give it to you, and you... you give me protection."

Francesco took the napkin. He looked at the password, then at her. He stepped closer, invading her personal space. He placed his hands on the mattress, one on either side of her hips, leaning down until they were nose to nose.

"You think you can bargain with me?" he murmured. His voice was low, dangerous. "What makes you think I won't just take this and throw you out on the street?"

Annelise looked into his eyes. She let a flicker of madness seep into her expression, the look of a woman who had nothing left to lose.

"Because you'd still have to find the server," she whispered, a bluff wrapped in the guise of terror. "And because... a man like you doesn't like loose ends. You like control. Keeping me close is the only way to be sure."

Francesco stared at her. He was searching for the lie, for the fear. He found only a strange, cold resolve that didn't match the file he had on her. The file said she was a country bumpkin, a foster kid who got lucky. This woman... this woman had teeth.

He straightened up, breaking the tension.

"Draft a guardianship agreement," he told the lawyer without looking away from Annelise. "She stays in one of my safe houses. Or better yet, she stays where I can see her."

"Sir?" the lawyer stammered.

"Do it." Francesco turned to leave. At the door, he paused. "Don't make me regret this, Annelise."

The door clicked shut.

Annelise let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Her palms were sweating. Not from fear, but from the sheer effort of restraining her natural instincts.

She swung her legs out of bed. She moved silently around the room, her eyes scanning the baseboards, the smoke detectors, the light fixtures.

She found it under the vase of lilies on the side table. A small, black disc. A listening device. It was pressure-activated and woven into the coaster, far more sophisticated than a simple bug. She smiled. Clever, but not clever enough.

She didn't remove it. Instead, she sat on the edge of the bed, buried her face in her hands, and began to sob. Loud, heaving, heartbroken sobs.

"Why..." she wailed to the empty room. "Why did he leave me?"

In the hallway, Francesco watched the feed on a tablet Silas was holding. He watched the woman break down, her shoulders shaking with grief.

"Do you think she's playing us?" Silas asked.

Francesco watched for a moment longer. "She's just a scared girl, Silas. She has a little fight in her, but she's broken. She's not a threat."

Inside the room, amidst her wails, Annelise's finger tapped a rhythm against the bedsheet. Short, long, short, short.

Phase One Complete.

Outside the window, a small drone hovered for a split second, caught the signal, and vanished into the night.