Chapter 2 - JULIAN SAW THE PHOTOGRAPH
Maya turned slowly.
Julian stood near the kitchen entrance.
Black suit.
Dark overcoat.
No bodyguards visible.
Which meant they were nearby.
His expression was unreadable.
That was worse than anger.
Maya immediately covered the photograph with her hand.
Too late.
Julian had already seen Elena’s face.
“Give it to me.”
“No.”
“Maya.”
“It’s personal.”
He stepped closer.
“So was the man threatening you.”
“He wasn’t threatening me.”
Julian’s eyes sharpened.
“You lie terribly.”
She hated that he knew.
“I can handle this.”
“Obviously.”
The single word hurt more than shouting would have.
Maya pulled the photograph against her chest.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“You left my home after promising we would talk.”
“I had work.”
“You had two jobs.”
She looked away.
“How long?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
His jaw tightened.
“Because you live under my roof while working yourself half to death for money you apparently need badly enough to lie about.”
“I don’t live under your roof for free.”
“You earn a salary.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you working another six-hour shift after spending all day at the penthouse?”
Maya said nothing.
Julian looked around.
The cheap fluorescent lights.
Her flour-covered apron.
Her swollen fingers.
The shoes near the staff door.
Something changed in his face.
Not pity.
Maya would have hated pity.
It looked more like fury aimed at someone else.
“Who is he?”
“No.”
“Maya.”
“You don’t get to interrogate me because you’re worried.”
His voice dropped.
“I’m not interrogating you.”
“Yes, you are.”
“If I were interrogating you, you’d know.”
That should have frightened her.
Instead, she almost laughed.
Almost.
Then Julian noticed the edge of an envelope sticking from her apron pocket.
FINAL NOTICE.
His eyes stopped.
Maya immediately pushed it deeper.
Too late again.
“What debt?”
“Julian.”
“How much?”
“It’s mine.”
“How much?”
She looked at him.
“Stop.”
He did.
That surprised her.
He simply stood there.
Then said:
“Fine.”
Maya’s shoulders relaxed slightly.
Julian continued.
“Tell me whether your mother is in danger.”
Maya went still.
“How did you—”
“The photograph.”
He nodded toward her hand.
“Why would a lender photograph your mother unless he wanted leverage?”
Maya looked down.
Julian waited.
She hated that he was patient when she needed him to be impatient.
Anger would have made resistance easier.
Finally, she whispered:
“He said he’ll call the loan.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s not the whole truth.”
She closed her eyes.
“He wants information.”
Julian’s face changed.
“What information?”
Maya did not answer.
His voice became dangerous.
“What did he ask you for?”
“The location of something.”
“What?”
She looked at him.
“The black ledger.”
The bakery became completely silent.
Julian did not blink.
Did not move.
But Maya saw it.
A tiny change in his breathing.
For the first time since she had known him, she had surprised him.
“Say that again.”
“He asked where you keep your black ledger.”
Julian’s face emptied of emotion.
“Did you tell him anything?”
“No.”
“Did you ever mention hearing that phrase?”
“No.”
“Did anyone know you overheard Derek and me?”
Maya froze.
Julian caught it.
“You did hear us.”
“I walked past.”
“How much?”
“One sentence.”
“What sentence?”
“That if the ledger got out, half the city burns.”
Julian looked toward the front windows.
Then he pulled out his phone.
“Derek.”
Maya stepped forward.
“Wait.”
Julian ignored her.
“Lock down the penthouse.”
Pause.
“Now.”
Another pause.
“No, don’t call anyone outside our circle.”
Maya’s stomach tightened.
“Julian.”
He ended the call.
“What is the black ledger?”
He looked at her.
“Something people kill for.”
The words landed hard.
She whispered:
“Then Victor—”
“Is either much more important than he looks…”
Julian stepped closer.
“…or much more disposable.”
Maya stared.
“His name is Victor Bellini.”
Julian’s eyes darkened.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“Describe him.”
She did.
Mid-fifties.
Scar near the chin.
Dark coat.
Gold ring.
Julian listened.
Then his expression changed.
Maya noticed.
“You know him.”
“No.”
“That face means you know something.”
“I know the name.”
“From where?”
Julian did not answer.
Maya’s fear deepened.
“Julian.”
“Bellini shouldn’t be alive.”
She stopped breathing.
“What?”
Julian looked toward the door Victor had just used.
“Victor Bellini was reported dead eight years ago.”
Maya’s fingers tightened around the photograph.
“That’s impossible.”
“No.”
He looked at her.
“What’s impossible is that a dead man has been collecting money from you for three years.”
Maya felt the room tilt.
Then Julian’s phone buzzed.
Derek.
He answered.
Listened.
And went completely still.
“What?”
May you like
Derek’s voice was loud enough that Maya heard one sentence through the phone.
“The ledger’s gone.”
