Chapter 6 - The Exile of Queens
The grey drizzle of a Manhattan morning matched the hollow ache inside Hannah Cooper's chest as she stepped off the subway in Queens.
Her single battered suitcase felt twice as heavy as it had when she first entered the glittering prison of the Ravalini estate.
Her elderly landlady, Mrs. Higgins, met her at the top of the apartment building's creaking stairs with a sympathetic look in her rheumy eyes.
Mrs. Higgins asked if the wealthy job hadn't worked out, noticing the tear tracks dried upon Hannah's cheeks.
Hannah forced a fragile smile, lied that she simply preferred her old life, and handed over the rent arrears in cash.
Yet, the crisp hundred-dollar bills felt like blood money in her hands.
She could not stop replaying Lucas's cold, dead eyes when he dismissed her from his study.
Every corner of her tiny, cramped apartment reminded her of Matteo's tear-stained face and the little wooden train they had fixed together.
She tried to distract herself by grading old school papers and preparing lesson plans for a local community center.
However, her mind remained trapped behind those iron gates, haunted by the lingering scent of sandalwood and danger that clung to Lucas.
Meanwhile, unbeknownst to Hannah, a sleek black town car sat parked three blocks away in the shadows of the elevated train tracks.
Two of Lucas's most trusted enforcers sat inside the vehicle, monitoring every movement she made through encrypted lenses.
Lucas was watching her life from a remote terminal in his fortified basement, punishing himself with the sight of her resilience.
He believed keeping her away was the only way to shield her from the bloodbath that was coming.
By midnight, a sudden knock rattled Hannah's front door, shattering the quiet gloom of her living room.
She peered through the peephole and found a manila envelope slipped under the welcome mat, devoid of any return address.
May you like
Inside lay a single photograph of her father's old forensic ledger, stamped with a confidential Ravalini crest.
Scrawled across the back in aggressive handwriting was a chilling warning that she was digging into things that would get everyone she loved killed.
