Chapter 9 - The Crimson Ribbon
The sun had barely cleared the granite spires of the Financial District when Mave arrived at the construction site of the new community arts center on Pearl Street. Her hard hat rested snugly over her dark hair, and a heavy blueprint tube was tucked under her arm. For the past six months, this project had been her architectural masterpiece—a sprawling, multi-level sanctuary designed to give local children and struggling families a safe place to learn, create, and grow. It was funded entirely by the Colazo Foundation, but every line, every beam, and every open-concept courtyard bore Mave’s distinct vision.
As she climbed the temporary wooden scaffolding to inspect the second-floor gallery framing, her cell phone buzzed in her pocket. She flipped it open, expecting Marcus or one of the site foremen.
Instead, an unfamiliar, raspy voice hissed through the speaker.
"Check the cornerstone of the north pavilion, Mave. A little gift from the old neighborhood. Tell Colazo his house of cards is built on sand."
The line went dead with a sharp click.
Mave froze, the blueprint tube slipping from her fingers to clatter against the subfloor. Her heart slammed against her ribs. The old neighborhood. The Gallo crew—the remnants of the syndicate faction that Gerald Moss had dealt with before their leaders were locked away. She thought they had been entirely swept out, dismantled by Rafe’s ruthless efficiency. But shadows always left residue.
Without hesitation, Mave spun around and sprinted down the scaffolding steps, ignoring the sharp twinge in her right shoulder where the old fracture still occasionally whispered of rain. She burst out into the central courtyard, heading straight for the massive granite cornerstone of the north pavilion.
Pinned to the rough stone by a heavy steel hunting knife was a small, blood-red ribbon and a polaroid photograph.
Mave’s breath caught. She stepped closer, her hands trembling as she pried the photograph loose from the blade. It was a picture of Finn, snapped through a telephoto lens just yesterday as he was leaving his elementary school gates, a backpack slung over his shoulder, completely unaware of the lens tracking his every step. Scrawled across the bottom in jagged marker were the words: AN EYE FOR AN EYE.
Panic clawed at her throat, sharp and suffocating. They hadn't come for her. They had come for Finn.
Within thirty seconds, Mave’s phone was dialing a direct, encrypted satellite frequency that connected only to one man.
The line answered on the first ring. "Mave? Are you alright?" Rafe’s voice was instantly alert, hard as chilled steel.
"Rafe," she choked out, fighting to keep her voice steady. "They're back. The Gallos. They left a message at the Pearl Street site. They have photos of Finn."
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The silence on the other end of the line lasted barely half a second, but in that fraction of a second, the temperature in the room Rafe occupied dropped to absolute zero. When he spoke again, the gravel in his voice was laced with a lethal, terrifying promise.
"Get in your car, Mave. Do not go to the school. Do not go home. Marcus is three minutes away from your location with an armed detail. I am pulling Finn out of class right now. They want a war? I'll show them what happens when you touch what is mine."
