Chapter 1 - The Blood on the Floor
“Because I am a nurse dropout, not an assassin,” I said, my voice steadier than my hands. “And because having a dead mafia boss in my living room seemed like a great way to lose my security deposit.”
Roman Bianchi did not laugh. He didn't even blink. He just stared at me with those bottomless, obsidian eyes, analyzing my answer for any trace of a lie. When he found none, he slowly leaned back against my sofa, his chest rising and falling in measured, shallow breaths.
“You are going to need a new apartment anyway,” he said quietly.
I stood up, the chair legs scraping harshly against the cheap linoleum. “Excuse me? I just saved your life. You’re not displacing me.”
“The man who put three inches of steel into my side is named Silas,” Roman said, ignoring my outrage entirely. “He was my underboss. He knows my safe houses. He knows my cars. He knows the women I used to date and the restaurants I own. But he does not know you. That is why I came here.”
“You came here because I’m a nobody?”
“I came here because you are a ghost in my world, Nora. A waitress who spilled a drink and vanished back into the kitchen. You were the only variable he could not calculate.” He winced, a muscle feathering at his jaw as he shifted his weight. “But Silas is thorough. When he realizes I did not bleed out in the alley behind the Lantern Room, he will start pulling camera feeds. He will track my blood trail. He will find this building.”
Panic, cold and sharp, finally pierced through the adrenaline that had kept me going all night. I looked at the bloody towels, the ruined shirt, the shears on my coffee table. “How long?”
“An hour. Maybe less.” Roman reached toward the pile of his discarded clothing. “Toss me my phone. It’s in the right pocket of my jacket.”
I found the heavy black device. It was miraculously uncracked. I handed it to him, careful not to let our fingers brush. He dialed a number from memory, pressing the phone to his ear.
“Dante,” Roman said, his voice dropping an octave, returning to the ruthless cadence of the man who ran the city. “I am compromised. Silas. Yes. I need an extraction. Quiet, blind, and heavily armed.” He recited an address—the bakery across the street from my building. “Five minutes.”
He hung up and looked at me. “Pack a bag.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I snapped, backing away. “You’re leaving. I’ll scrub the floors with bleach. I’ll tell them I haven’t seen you.”
“Silas will not ask you politely, Nora,” Roman stated, his tone chillingly factual. “He will break your fingers one by one until you tell him where I went, and then he will put a bullet in your head just to be tidy. You are part of this now. Pack a bag, or I will throw you over my shoulder and carry you out myself. And given my current condition, that will be painful for both of us.”
I looked at his bleeding side, then at his dead-serious eyes. He wasn't threatening me; he was stating a horrific reality.
I ran to my bedroom. I shoved jeans, sweaters, underwear, and my remaining medical supplies into a duffel bag. When I returned to the living room, Roman was already standing. He was pale, swaying slightly, but his sheer willpower was a physical force in the room. He had wrapped my grandmother’s yellow daisy blanket tightly around his torso to hide the fresh bandages.
“Let’s go,” he commanded.
We slipped out the back stairwell into the freezing San Francisco fog. The alley smelled of salt and garbage. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. Across the street, a matte black SUV idled with its headlights off.
A man stepped out of the driver’s side. He was built like a tank, wearing a dark suit that strained across his shoulders. Dante.
“Boss,” Dante said, his eyes flicking to me, registering my presence but asking no questions. He opened the rear door.
Roman climbed in, gritting his teeth against the pain. I hesitated on the curb. This was the point of no return. If I got into this car, my ordinary, struggling, exhausting life was over.
Roman looked at me from the dark interior. He extended a large, blood-stained hand.
May you like
“I will keep you safe, Nora. I swear it on my life.”
I took his hand. It was the most dangerous decision I had ever made.
