Chapter 3 - The Continental
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The Continental was neutral ground for the underworld. Thick velvet curtains covered the walls, and mahogany panels reflected dim, amber light. The room smelled of expensive tobacco, aged whiskey, and cheap morality.
Nora sat in a high-backed leather booth with a glass of sparkling water in front of her. She played the role expected of her: silent, obedient, and decorative.
Richard moved through the room, pitching the new arrangement. Nora watched him approach underbosses, loan sharks, and disgraced politicians. She could identify the exact moment he disclosed her medical diagnosis.
The men would look toward her. Some sneered in disgust. Others smiled slowly, a predatory glint in their eyes. A woman who could not become pregnant meant no unexpected heirs, no competing bloodlines, and no child who could later be used as leverage against them.
Eventually, a man with a jagged scar through his left eyebrow approached her table. He smelled intensely of garlic, sweat, and inexpensive cologne. He sat across from Nora without even introducing himself. His eyes dropped immediately to her chest, then slowly rose to her face.
“Richard says you can’t have kids.”
“That is the medical consensus,” Nora said smoothly.
“Yes.” His smile widened, revealing yellowed teeth. “I like that. Means I can do whatever I want, and I don’t have to worry about paying for a bastard down the line.”
Nora’s stomach twisted violently, but her face remained an impassive mask. This was what remained of her life. She was going to be sold to a monster to cover her father’s failed gambling debts.
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For a fraction of a second, Nora closed her eyes, praying for the floor to open up and swallow her.
When she opened them, the scarred man was no longer sitting opposite her. Someone had seized him by the back of his collar and violently dragged him from the booth, tossing him onto the floor like a ragdoll.
