Chapter 4 The Last Call
The afternoon sun filtered through the barred window, casting striped shadows across Nora’s room. She sat on the edge of the bed, her mind racing with everything Noah had told her. Tomorrow night. Julian Holloway. The Dark Room if she failed.
But there was something else gnawing at her. Something she couldn’t shake.
Her family.
Nora stood abruptly, ignoring the sharp protest from her ribs, and walked to the door. She knocked firmly, and within seconds, a guard appeared. He was the same one who had brought her breakfast. Young, muscular, with a scar running down his left cheek.
“I need to speak with the Mafia King,” Nora said.
The guard’s expression didn’t change. “That’s not how it works.”
“I need to make a request. It’s important.”
“You don’t have direct access to him.” His tone was flat, bureaucratic. “You pass your request through me. If he deems it worthy, he’ll respond.”
Nora swallowed her pride. She had no choice. “I want to contact my family. Just once. I need to know if they’re okay. If they’re alive.”
The guard studied her for a moment, his face unreadable. “Wait here.”
He disappeared down the corridor, his footsteps echoing on the hardwood floors. Nora stood in the doorway, her heart pounding. She didn’t expect the Mafia King to grant her anything. He had taken everything from her. Why would he give her this?
But maybe, just maybe, he would see it as a way to control her further. To show her exactly how much power he had.
Fifteen minutes passed. Then twenty. Nora was about to give up when the guard returned, holding a basic cellphone in his hand.
“You have five minutes,” he said, handing it to her. “One call. Make it count.”
Nora stared at the phone in her trembling hands. She couldn’t believe it. He had actually granted her request.
“Thank you,” she whispered, though the words felt wrong in her mouth.
The guard stepped back but remained in the doorway, watching her.
Nora’s fingers shook as she dialed the number. Ben’s number. The one she had memorized years ago. Please pick up, she thought desperately. Please.
The phone rang once. Twice. Three times.
Then a mechanical voice: “The number you have dialed is no longer in service.”
Nora’s breath caught in her throat. She ended the call and tried again, carefully entering each digit to make sure she hadn’t made a mistake.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
“The number you have dialed is no longer in service.”
No. No, no, no.
She tried a third time. Then a fourth. Each time, the same cold, automated message. Each time, another piece of hope crumbling inside her chest.
He had changed his number. Or disconnected it entirely. Either way, the message was clear: he didn’t want to be reached. He had moved on. Erased her from his life so completely that even her attempts to reach out hit a dead end.
Nora’s vision blurred with tears. Her hands shook so badly she almost dropped the phone. Five years. Five years of telling herself that Ben was out there somewhere, that her children were waiting for her, that if she could just survive long enough, she could go back to them.
But there was nothing to go back to.
She handed the phone back to the guard, unable to speak. He took it without a word and left, locking the door behind him.
Nora sank onto the bed, her whole body trembling. The tears came then, hot and bitter, streaming down her bruised face. She pressed her hands over her mouth to muffle the sobs, but they tore through her anyway, raw and painful.
She had never felt so alone.
Time passed in a blur. She didn’t know how long she sat there, crying silently, mourning the family she had already lost long before she admitted it to herself.
A knock on the door startled her. She quickly wiped her face, though she knew it was useless. Her eyes were swollen, her cheeks streaked with tears.
The door opened, and Noah stepped inside, followed by two others.
“Miss Carter,” Noah said, his tone professional. “I’d like you to meet the team.”
Behind him stood a man and a woman. The man was in his mid-twenties, with sandy blonde hair and an easy smile. He wore jeans and a dark hoodie, looking more like a college student than a criminal.
“Sam,” he said, giving her a small wave. “I handle logistics and tech support. Basically, I’m the guy who makes sure you don’t get caught.”
The woman was different. Late twenties, beautiful in a sharp, dangerous way. She had long dark hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail and wore all black: tight pants, a fitted top, and leather boots. Her eyes were cold as they swept over Nora, assessing her with obvious disdain.
“Beverley,” she said curtly. “I was the front woman before you.”
The emphasis on “was” wasn’t lost on Nora. This woman resented her. Hated her, even.
But Nora didn’t have the energy to care. Not right now.
“Nice to meet you,” Nora said flatly, her voice hollow.
Beverley’s lip curled slightly, but she said nothing more.
Sam glanced between them, clearly sensing the tension, but he kept his easy smile in place. “We’re a good team. We’ve been working together for a while now. You’ll fit in just fine.”
“Sure,” Nora said, but the word had no conviction behind it.
Noah was watching her carefully. His brow furrowed slightly as he took in her red-rimmed eyes, the defeated slump of her shoulders. He gestured to Sam and Beverley.
“Give us a minute.”
Beverley rolled her eyes but turned and left without argument. Sam followed, closing the door behind them.
Noah crossed the room and sat in the chair across from Nora, keeping a respectful distance. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, quietly, “What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Nora.”
The use of her first name surprised her. He had been calling her Miss Carter all day. The familiarity of it, the gentleness in his voice, broke something loose inside her.
“I tried to call my husband,” she said, her voice cracking. “The Mafia King let me make a call. But the number doesn’t work anymore. He changed it. Or disconnected it. I don’t know. I just know he’s gone. They’re all gone.”
Noah leaned back in his chair, his expression softening. “I’m sorry.”
“Are you?” Nora looked at him, anger flashing through her grief. “You work for the man who did this to me. You’re part of this. So don’t sit there and tell me you’re sorry.”
“You’re right,” Noah said simply. “I am part of this. And I can’t change that. But I am sorry. For what it’s worth.”
Nora looked away, fresh tears threatening to fall.
“I know it doesn’t help,” Noah continued, his voice quiet but firm. “But you need to hear this. Your husband has moved on. He’s probably remarried. Whether he changed his number or not, the result is the same. He’s not coming for you. No one is.”
The words were brutal, but they were true. Nora knew that. She had known it for a while now, but hearing someone say it out loud made it real in a way that hurt even more.
“You have two choices,” Noah said. “You can spend what’s left of your life mourning what you lost, or you can accept that this is your reality now and figure out how to survive it. I’m not saying forget them. But I am saying you need to move on. Because if you don’t, this place will destroy you.”
Nora wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. She hated that he was right.
But there was something in his voice. Like he actually cared whether she survived or not.
“Why do you care?” she asked. “Why does it matter to you if I survive?”
Noah was quiet for a moment. Then he stood and walked to the window, looking out at the trees beyond the bars.
“Because I know what it’s like to lose everything,” he said finally. “And I know what it’s like to have to keep going anyway. It’s not easy. But it’s possible.”
He turned back to her, and for the first time, she saw something in his eyes that wasn’t just professionalism or duty. It was understanding.
“Get some rest,” Noah said. “Tomorrow’s going to be hard enough without you being exhausted.”
He left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
Nora sat alone in the fading sunlight, Noah’s words echoing in her mind. Move on. Survive. Accept reality.
Maybe he was right. Maybe that was all she had left.
She lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling, and for the first time since her kidnapping, she allowed herself to truly let go. Not of the memories. But of the hope that things would ever go back to the way they were.
Now she had to figure out how to live in this new one.
\-----
The next day arrived too quickly.
Nora spent the morning in a daze, going through the motions. A guard brought her breakfast. She showered. She dressed in the clothes that had been left in the closet: simple black pants and a white sweater. Nothing flashy. Berveley gave her a face makeover to cover some of the bruises sustained from the beating.
Afternoon came, and Noah returned with details about Julian Holloway. His habits, his preferences, his weaknesses. Nora tried to focus, tried to absorb the information, but her mind kept drifting.
By evening, her stomach was in knots.
Then, just as the sun began to set, a guard appeared at her door.
“The Mafia King wants to see all of you. Conference room. Now.”
Nora’s heart sank.
She followed the guard down the corridor, her legs feeling like lead. They entered a large room with a long wooden table. Sam and Beverley were already there, standing near the far end. Noah stood by the window, his arms crossed.
And at the head of the table, dressed in his black suit and mask, stood the Mafia King.
“Sit,” he commanded.
They all took seats. Nora sat as far from him as possible, her hands clenched in her lap.
The Mafia King walked slowly around the table, his gloved hands trailing along the polished wood. When he spoke, his voice was calm. Too calm.
“Tonight is Miss Carter’s first assignment,” he said. “I trust Noah has briefed you all on the details.”
“Yes, sir,” Noah said.
“Good.” The Mafia King stopped behind Nora’s chair. She could feel his presence, cold and suffocating. “This job is important. Julian Holloway has information we need. Information that is worth a significant amount of money. I expect this operation to go smoothly.”
He leaned down, his masked face close to Nora’s ear.
“Do you understand what is expected of you, Miss Carter?”
“Yes,” Nora said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I certainly hope so.” He straightened and continued pacing. “Because failure is not something I tolerate. You all know the consequences. The Dark Room is not a pleasant place. And if the failure is severe enough, well…” He paused, letting the silence stretch. “Let’s just say there are worse things than three days in darkness.”
Beverley shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Even Sam looked tense.
“This team has a reputation,” the Mafia King continued. “A reputation for success. I expect that reputation to be maintained. Do your jobs carefully. Follow the plan. Do not improvise. Do not take unnecessary risks. And most importantly, do not fail me.”
He stopped at the head of the table again, his masked gaze sweeping over all of them.
“If you succeed, you will be rewarded. If you fail…” He let the sentence hang, unfinished.
No one spoke.
“You leave in one hour,” the Mafia King said. “Prepare yourselves.”
He turned and walked out of the room, his footsteps echoing down the hall until they faded into silence.
For a moment, no one moved.
Then Beverley stood abruptly, shoving her chair back. “Let’s get this over with,” she muttered, and left.
Sam followed, giving Nora an encouraging nod as he passed.
Only Noah remained. He looked at Nora, his expression unreadable.
“You ready?” he asked.
Nora stood on shaking legs. Her first job. Her first test.
“No,” she said honestly. “But I don’t have a choice, do I?”
Noah’s jaw tightened. “No. You don’t.”
They walked out together, and with every step, Nora felt the weight of what was coming pressing down on her.