Chapter 8 - Thirty-Two People Behind a Locked Door
Warehouse Eight was burning by the time Dante arrived.
Smoke rolled from second-floor windows.
Firefighters were still minutes away.
Nico stood beside a locked loading entrance with two men trying to cut the chain.
“Thirty-two workers signed into this building,” he shouted.
“How many out?”
“Eleven.”
Dante looked toward Harper.
“Stay here.”
“No.”
“Harper.”
“I’m not entering a fire.”
“Good.”
“I’m helping count.”
Dante ran toward the side entrance.
Harper grabbed his coat.
He turned.
“Don’t be stupid.”
He almost laughed.
“You’ve said that before.”
“I mean it more now.”
For a second, the noise around them disappeared.
Dante touched her face.
Then ran.
Nico’s men broke the side lock.
The first group came out coughing.
Then more.
Most were terrified migrant workers who spoke limited English.
Several refused to talk to police.
Harper understood why.
False identities.
Threats against families.
She found a young woman speaking Spanish and began translating.
“There are people downstairs.”
“How many?”
The woman held up fingers.
Eight.
Harper looked toward the warehouse.
Dante was already inside.
“Damn him.”
Fire crews arrived.
Minutes stretched.
One worker came out.
Then another.
Then Nico.
Supporting an injured man.
“Where’s Dante?”
Nico coughed.
“Basement.”
Harper went pale.
“He found a locked room.”
The firefighters entered.
Harper stood behind the barrier gripping her phone so hard her knuckles whitened.
She had spent years believing Dante Moretti could not be frightened.
Now she understood something worse.
He was frightened all the time.
He simply moved anyway.
Five minutes later, firefighters emerged.
Then Dante.
Black soot streaked his face.
His coat was gone.
A teenage boy leaned against him.
Harper’s legs nearly failed.
Dante handed the boy to paramedics.
Then Harper hit him in the chest.
He stared.
“What was that?”
“You went into a burning basement.”
“There were people—”
She hit him again.
“Harper.”
“You absolute—”
Then she hugged him.
Carefully because of her ribs.
Dante froze.
Nico turned away with a smile.
Harper buried her face against Dante’s shirt.
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I am considering it.”
His arms slowly wrapped around her.
“You’re shaking.”
“So are you.”
He realized she was right.
The last workers were rescued.
No deaths.
Three hospitalized.
The basement room revealed something more important than Margaret intended.
Rows of passports.
Phones.
Payroll records.
Evidence of the trafficking network still operating.
And one locked office belonging to Dominic Shaw.
His fingerprints were everywhere.
Dominic was arrested that evening.
Gabriel March agreed to cooperate fully.
Elias turned over records Anthony had entrusted to him.
The network began collapsing.
Yet Harper remained unsettled.
Three days later, she sat inside Dante’s office staring at a document.
“What?”
Dante entered carrying coffee.
She looked up.
“The employee list from Warehouse Eight.”
“And?”
“One name.”
“Who?”
“Samuel Reed.”
Dante frowned.
“Related?”
“My brother.”
He stopped.
Harper had mentioned a younger brother exactly once.
Samuel Reed disappeared when Harper was nineteen.
Police believed he ran away after developing drug problems.
Susan never accepted it.
Harper spent years looking.
“Are you sure?”
“Date of birth matches.”
Her voice trembled.
“He’s listed under a false Social Security number.”
Dante sat.
“Was he at Warehouse Eight?”
“No.”
“Then where?”
Harper pulled another document.
“Transferred six months ago.”
“To?”
She looked at him.
“Montreal.”
The network extended beyond Southside.
Dante understood what that meant.
Margaret’s arrest was not the ending.
Someone else controlled the northern route.
Harper’s brother might be alive.
Her phone rang.
Unknown Canadian number.
Harper answered.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then:
“Harper?”
Her hand flew to her mouth.
“Sam?”
A man began crying.
Her brother.
Alive.
“I didn’t think you’d ever find me.”
Harper’s tears came immediately.
“Where are you?”
“I can’t say.”
“Sam.”
“They watch.”
“Who?”
“People connected to Shaw.”
“Margaret’s arrested.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
Harper looked at Dante.
“Who’s above her?”
Sam whispered:
“Nobody.”
“Then what are you afraid of?”
“The buyers.”
Dante’s expression hardened.
Harper asked:
“Can you get somewhere safe?”
“No.”
“Give me anything.”
Silence.
Then Sam said:
“Blue Harbor Hotel.”
The line ended.
Nico located three hotels by that name near Montreal.
Dante was already reaching for his coat.
Harper said:
“No.”
He stopped.
“You are not going to Canada and starting an international incident.”
“My alternative?”
“We do this legally.”
He looked pained.
“Those words hurt you.”
“Deeply.”
Harper contacted federal investigators.
Within hours, Canadian authorities were involved.
The location was identified.
Sam and six other victims were recovered the next afternoon.
No shootout.
No revenge.
Paperwork, coordination, and patience.
Dante hated every minute.
Harper loved reminding him.
Sam returned to New York two weeks later.
Thin.
Older than thirty-one.
But alive.
Susan collapsed into his arms at the airport.
Harper stood beside Dante watching.
“You did this.”
He shook his head.
“You did.”
“We did.”
That word landed differently.
We.
Sam eventually explained that he had been lured into debt through drugs, then forced into courier work.
Margaret’s people exploited his record to make him disappear.
James Reed had died trying to stop one generation of the network.
His son became trapped by the next.
Harper sat awake after everyone left.
Dante found her on his balcony.
“You should sleep.”
“You always say that while also being awake.”
“Hypocrisy is one of my better qualities.”
She smiled.
Then looked at him.
“Why are you still doing this?”
“Doing what?”
“Staying.”
Dante frowned.
“Where would I go?”
“You could hand everything to prosecutors and disappear.”
“Would you?”
“No.”
“There’s your answer.”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
He knew.
Dante stepped closer.
“Harper.”
She looked up.
“The night the hospital called, I thought I was angry because someone broke my rule.”
She waited.
“I was wrong.”
“What were you?”
“Terrified.”
Her eyes softened.
“Because you were hurt.”
“Dante—”
“No.”
He was tired of almost saying things.
“Because it was you.”
Silence.
Harper’s breath caught.
He continued quietly.
“I don’t know when my secretary became the first person I look for in every room.”
She blinked.
“But she did.”
Dante smiled faintly.
“And apparently she also became the person who tells me not to enter burning buildings.”
“You need supervision.”
“I’ve noticed.”
Harper stepped closer.
Their faces were inches apart.
Then her phone rang.
They both closed their eyes.
Dante sighed.
“I hate technology.”
Harper laughed.
The moment broke.
But not entirely.
May you like
Because before answering, Harper took Dante’s hand.
And kept holding it.
