Chapter 3 - The Cold Walk-Up in Astoria
The rain began to fall just as Sebastian’s black Maybach turned onto 31st Street in Astoria. The neon signs of 24-hour bodegas and Greek diners bled streaks of red and yellow light across the wet asphalt.
It was a far cry from the limestone townhouses of the Upper East Side where Clarissa Hart lived, and light-years away from the glass penthouses of Manhattan.
Sebastian stepped out into the damp chill, ignoring the driver who rushed forward with an umbrella. He walked past a row of brick walk-ups until he found the address Marcus had given him: a narrow, four-story building with peeling green paint on the front door and a tangle of fire escapes zig-zagging up the facade.
He climbed the three flights of stairs in silence, his heart hammering against his ribs with a rhythm he hadn't felt since he was a kid running drugs for his uncle in Brooklyn.
When he reached the door of Apartment 3B, he heard her voice through the thin wood.
"No, Owen, we don't draw on the walls. Use the paper, sweetheart."
"But Mom," a little boy’s voice piped up, high and stubborn, "the dinosaur lives in the jungle, not on a flat sheet!"
"Well, this jungle has rules," Maya laughed softly—a sound that made Sebastian’s breath catch in his throat.
He raised his hand and knocked.
The conversation inside stopped instantly. Heavy silence swallowed the apartment.
Footsteps approached the door, light and hesitant. The lock clicked, and the door opened six inches, held back by a heavy brass chain.
Maya peered out through the crack. When she saw Sebastian standing in the dim, flickering hallway light, the color drained completely from her face.
"How did you find me?" she whispered, her fingers whitening on the edge of the door.
"Maya, open the door," Sebastian said, his voice softer than he intended.
"Go away, Sebastian. I have nothing to say to you. I’m calling the police."
"Go ahead," he said, stepping forward until his chest brushed the wood. "Tell them Sebastian Vale is standing outside your door. See how fast they answer."
Maya stared at him, her dark eyes flashing with a dangerous mix of fear and old, unheeded rage. Slowly, with shaking hands, she unhooked the chain and pulled the door open.
She wore an oversized gray sweater that swallowed her small frame and a pair of faded leggings. Her hair was loose now, falling in dark waves around her shoulders.
From behind her skirt, three pairs of wide, curious eyes peered out into the hallway.
There was Noah—the boy with Sebastian’s exact gray eyes—clutching his toy dinosaur. To his left stood Ivy, her dark hair pulled into crooked pigtails, holding a worn pink blanket. And peeking from behind Maya’s right hip was little Owen, thumb jammed into his mouth, studying the tall stranger in the expensive wool coat.
Sebastian felt his knees turn to water.
He had spent his life staring down rival bosses, federal prosecutors, and armed assassins without blinking. But looking at these three small lives—created from his blood, nurtured by a woman he had cast aside—undone him completely.
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"Can I... can I come in?" Sebastian asked, his voice cracking on the last word.
Maya looked at him for a long, agonizing moment. Then she stepped aside, letting the door swing wide open.
