Page 14 of Hunting Snow

Sapphire's fingers resume their work on the keyboard.

"Client name for the ledger?"

"Anonymous. Castellano accounts for the escrow."

"Anonymous for the runner, yes. But you signed in blood at the door, Mrs. Castellano. Your name stays on the books. Genesis policy."

A flicker of annoyance tightens my jaw. I smooth it away before it reaches my mouth. "Fine."

The monitor behind her illuminates with the contract layout. She inputs the details without asking me to repeat a single word. Target. Photo. Conditions. Fee. Timeline.

"Any special conditions? Location restrictions, method preferences, staging requirements?"

"No staging. I don't need an accident or a suicide. I need her gone. How it happens is the runner's concern as long as nothing remains to investigate."

Sapphire nods once and types the final entries. She turns the laptop toward me. The screen displays a clean summary of the contract. Neve's photograph sits in the upper right corner, those green eyes staring at me with the same naive openness that made her father love her so fiercely and made me grind my teeth at every family dinner for a decade.

"Review the terms. If everything is accurate, I'll submit for authorization."

I scan the summary. Every detail is correct. I push the laptop back across the wood.

"Submit it."

She closes the laptop and reaches for one of her phones. A single message tapped out with her thumb, sent, then she sets the phone facedown on the table.

"Authorization comes from ownership. For a closed contract at this level, Harlon reviews and assigns the runner personally."

"How long?"

"He's in the building."

We wait in silence. I don't fill the quiet with conversation and neither does Sapphire. I’m assuming she doesn't make small talk with women who order hits on their stepdaughters and she doesn't offer judgment either. At least not judgment she allows to surface. I appreciate the arrangement. Genesis doesn't moralize. It facilitates.

Three minutes pass before the elevator doors open on the far side of the floor. A man steps out who changes the pressure of the room with his mere presence.

Harlon Constantine moves through the Dark Floor and the air thins behind him. Every runner in the lounge sits straighter. The receptionist's spine stiffens behind her desk. Even the shadows pull tighter around him. This man doesn't carry danger. He is the room's entire relationship with death, walking in a black suit. Even the shadows pull tighter around him.

Tall, broad, dressed in a black suit that fits like a second skin. Dark hair, dark eyes, a jaw that could have been carved from the same wood as the reception desk. Handsome in a way that warns rather than invites. A weapon gleams at his hip, holstered but visible. He doesn't hide it. Why would he? This is his kingdom.

He reaches the parlor and his gaze passes over me unaffected. I’d take offense, but I’m not here to land a new lover or worry what this man thinks about my new shade of lipstick.

He is not interested in my beauty, my name, or my reasons. He is interested in whether this contract is worth his floor's resources and reputation.

"Sapphire." His voice is controlled and carries an authority that doesn't need volume to fill every corner of the room.

"Closed contract. Castellano heir. Ten point five. Clean elimination, no trace. One-week window." Sapphire delivers the summary with precision.

Harlon picks up Neve's photograph. Those dark eyes study my stepdaughter's smiling face for one long, measured breath. He sets it down.

"You're the wife."

"Widow," I correct him without hesitation.

His expression doesn't change. "Castellano accounts?"

Sapphire nods. "Escrow is funded and verified."

Harlon's attention returns to me and I hold his gaze without flinching. Men like him expect women to lower their eyes. I've shared a bed with their breed. I've buried their breed. I don't look away.