Chapter 10 - THE COVENANT AT TABLE SEVEN
Nina went completely, utterly rigid.
The room seemed to fall away, the chandeliers, the white tablecloths, and the staring patrons dissolving into an empty, black void. Her heart stopped.
He smelled the hospital on you.
She hadn't mentioned her mother. She hadn't spoken of the dialysis clinic, the four thousand dollars in arrears, or the four-hour treatments on Tuesday and Thursday mornings where she sat beside an electric bed, holding a frail, trembling hand while a machine filtered poison from her mother's blood. She had showered before her shift; she had scrubbed her skin with lavender soap; she had pinned her hair back with clean silver clips.
Yet this man—this monster who ruled the underworld with iron and blood—had looked at her for three minutes and dismantled every secret she had spent six months hiding behind her starched service apron.
"How do you know that?" Nina whispered, her voice barely a thread of sound in the dim light.
Sebastian didn't answer with words.
He slowly reached into his tailored breast pocket. His fingers emerged holding a heavy, rectangular card of matte-black titanium, unadorned save for a single embossed phone number and the crest of a coiled viper stamped in deep silver.
He didn't hand it to her. He stepped forward, his body closing the final two feet of space between them until his chest nearly brushed the front of her crimson dress.
Nina did not step back. Her heels remained planted on the parquetry, her hand still anchored to the pit bull’s scarred neck, holding his gaze with a fierce, terrified courage that caused the subtle, dangerous approval to flare once more in Sebastian’s gray eyes.
With agonizing slowness, Sebastian reached his right hand out.
His large, ink-stained fingers reached past her shoulder, delicately sliding the heavy titanium card into the small, starched pocket of her service apron, right beneath her brass name tag. His knuckles brushed against the fabric of her bodice, a brief, electric point of contact that sent a shiver straight down Nina’s spine.
"Your shift is over, Miss Harper," Sebastian murmured, his baritone low, gravelly, and carrying an absolute, sovereign finality that brooked no debate.
"Mr. Crowe, I have four tables—"
"You have no tables," Sebastian cut her off, his voice soft as silk and hard as an iron vault door. "The medical center on Western Avenue will receive a wire transfer at eight o'clock tomorrow morning. Your mother’s account will be marked paid in full. Permanently."
Nina’s breath left her in a sharp, stunned gasp, her hand flying to her mouth, her eyes widening in pure, disbelieving shock. "No... no, I can't take your money. I don't work for you."
"You don't take my money," Sebastian replied, his lips curving into the faintest, most devastating ghost of a smile. "You take Cerberus's gratitude. He is particular about who he permits to touch his head. And he has decided that you are under his protection."
He stepped back half an inch, his eyes drifting down to the massive dog.
"Cerberus," Sebastian commanded softly.
The pit bull did not immediately move. He looked up at Nina one last time, his amber eyes blinking slowly, then gave her hand a single, rough lick with his broad pink tongue. Slowly, reluctantly, the beast detached himself from her legs and stepped into the aisle, falling into his customary position half a pace behind his master’s left heel.
Sebastian turned his head toward the front of the restaurant, where Marcus stood frozen like an executioner's assistant.
"Marcus," Sebastian called across the room, his voice returning to its cold, imperial cadence that made every spine in the supper club snap straight.
"Yes, Mr. Crowe!" the manager squeaked, scurrying forward.
"Call my car," Sebastian ordered, without looking back. "And see that Miss Harper is escorted to a private town car at the rear exit. If a single person in this city approaches her before she reaches her door... I will hold you personally responsible."
"Immediately, sir! Right away!"
Sebastian turned his back on the dining room, his long cashmere overcoat flaring behind him as he began his slow, measured walk toward the grand mahogany doors of the entrance. Cerberus padded beside him, the spiked leather collar gleaming beneath the chandeliers, his heavy tail giving a single, subtle wag as they crossed the threshold.
Nina stood alone in the center of the parquet floor, her hand still tingling from the coarse fur of the beast, her right wrist throbbing beneath its dark purple brand.
She reached down with trembling fingers, touching the heavy, cold piece of black titanium resting in her apron pocket.
May you like
The dining room around her slowly began to breathe again, the murmurs of the wealthy patrons rising in hushed, terrified whispers, the jazz piano tentatively picking up a melody in the corner. But Nina didn't hear any of it.
She looked through the grand glass doors of The Serpent Room, watching the tall, dark-haired man and his scarred hound disappear into the cold Chicago rain, knowing with terrifying, absolute certainty that her life had crossed an invisible line—and that the Reaper had just claimed her as the only thing in the city he would burn the world to protect.
