Chapter 4 - The Sanctuary and the Storm
While Cole deployed his enforcers to pull Arthur Sterling out of his bed, Nora Miller found herself sitting in the massive, mahogany-paneled kitchen of Cole’s Chicago safehouse—a sprawling, fortress-like estate overlooking Lake Michigan.
A private chef had prepared a steaming bowl of homemade soup and placed it before her, but Nora barely touched it. She sat wrapped in a cashmere throw, staring at the floor, still trying to process how her quiet, miserable life had collided with the most feared criminal syndicate in the Midwest.
The heavy kitchen doors swung open, and Cole walked in.
He had changed into a fresh black button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle and old scars. He looked exhausted, yet radiated a terrifying, coiled energy—like a predator that had just caught the scent of the traitor who had poisoned its pack.
He pulled out the chair opposite Nora and sat down.
“You haven't eaten,” Cole noted, his voice uncharacteristically gentle compared to the cold steel he’d used in the hallway earlier.
Nora looked up, biting her lower lip. “I’m... I’m not really hungry. Mr. Ashworth, why am I here? Your men just picked me up from the hospital, brought me to this... this castle, and told me I was safe. But I don't even know what’s happening.”
“What’s happening, Nora, is that you saved my mother’s life,” Cole said evenly, pouring himself a glass of water. “In my world, debts are paid in full. From this moment on, you never have to worry about rent, food, or safety again. My men will clear out your old apartment tomorrow. You’re under my protection.”
Nora’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Protection? Mr. Ashworth, I’m just a cashier at a 24-hour diner. I don't need protection. I just... I just wanted to help an old lady who was freezing to death.”
“That ‘old lady’ is my mother,” Cole said, his gray eyes locking onto hers. “And the people who let her freeze are about to learn what happens when you steal from an Ashworth.”
Before Nora could reply, heavy footsteps echoed across the marble hallway.
Marcus, Cole’s head of security, strode into the kitchen, his face grim. He leaned down and whispered something into Cole’s ear.
Cole stood up so fast his chair scraped loudly against the floor. The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees.
“He’s secured?” Cole asked, his voice lethal.
“In the underground garage, boss,” Marcus replied. “He tried to pull a gun. We broke his wrist. He’s waiting for you.”
Cole buttoned his cuffs, picked up his leather coat, and looked at Nora. “Finish your soup, Nora. Stay inside. Moose will keep you company.”
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With a low, heavy thud, the massive mastiff trotted over from the corner and sat squarely in front of the kitchen door, guarding her like a furry mountain.
Cole turned on his heel and walked down into the dark, concrete belly of the estate.
