Chapter 2 - The Forty-Seventh Floor
At seven in the morning, the forty-seventh floor of the Santoro Tower smelled of lemon wax, dark roast espresso, and cold ozone from the air filtration units.
Rafael Santoro stood by the glass, his hands tucked into the pockets of his charcoal trousers. Below him, the Chicago River looked like a ribbon of dark oil cutting through the gray concrete grid of the city.
Behind him, Abel Ferraro set a black leather folder on the mahogany desk.
"Pike’s crew started teardowns on the south side site at five this morning," Abel said, his voice low and dry as dry leaves. "He’s paying the demo team double time out of his personal account. He didn't ask a single question."
"He wouldn't," Rafe said without turning around. "Pike is a greedy man, Abel, but he isn't a stupid one. He knows the difference between losing a margin and losing a life."
"Miss Whitlock called the main desk twice this morning," Abel added, shifting his weight. "She wants the flower arrangements confirmed for the main dining room for Saturday’s gala. The orchids are coming in from Miami."
Rafe turned slowly. His gray eyes were clear, untired, and entirely devoid of the warmth most men showed when speaking of their betrothed.
"Let her handle it," Rafe said. "Julianna knows what looks correct for the press."
"She asked if you were attending the tasting at four."
"I have a meeting with the port authorities at four," Rafe said, sitting down behind the desk and opening the first file. "Tell her I will be down for the main service at eight."
Abel lingered by the door for a fraction of a second. "Rafe?"
"Speak."
"Bernardet came by the lower office again late last night. After you left for the docks."
Rafe’s pen paused half an inch above the signature line. "What did she want?"
"She wouldn't state it to the guard. Said it was internal house business. She looked... uncomfortable."
Rafe looked at the paper for a long moment, then signed his name in his clean, narrow hand. "Bernardet has been with the dining room for thirty years. If she has a problem with the floor staff, she can handle it through standard payroll. We don't interfere with her discipline."
"Understood," Abel said, and reached for the door handle.
"Abel."
"Sir?"
May you like
"Check the security logs for the third basement level from last night. Make sure the night staff is getting to their vehicles without hassle from the street crews."
Abel nodded once, his face neutral, and slipped out into the hall.
