Chapter 2 - The Man in My Kitchen
I reached for my phone.
Nothing.
The nightstand was empty.
I'd left it charging in the kitchen.
Perfect.
I slipped out of bed.
The apartment was dark except for streetlight filtering through the blinds.
Another sound.
A drawer opening.
Someone was searching my apartment.
I backed toward the bathroom.
Then my bedroom door slowly moved.
I grabbed the nearest weapon.
A ceramic lamp.
The door opened.
A masked man stepped inside.
I swung.
The lamp exploded against his shoulder.
He cursed.
I ran.
He caught my sweatshirt.
Fabric tightened against my throat.
Then—
A massive crash came from the living room.
Someone shouted.
My attacker turned.
I drove my elbow backward and tore free.
Three men came through my front door.
For one horrifying second, I thought more attackers had arrived.
Then I recognized one.
The giant from downstairs.
He hit my attacker once.
The masked man collapsed.
Another figure ran toward the fire escape.
A second guard chased him.
Then Luca walked into my apartment.
Barefoot.
Black trousers.
White shirt hanging open at the collar.
Tattoos visible across his chest and hands.
He looked nothing like a businessman now.
He looked exactly like what I had suspected he was.
Dangerous.
His gaze swept over the broken window, overturned drawers, and finally me.
“Are you hurt?”
“What are you doing here?”
“Nora.”
“How did you know?”
His eyes moved toward the unconscious man.
“Because I had someone watching your apartment.”
My stomach dropped.
“You what?”
“Since you walked upstairs.”
“That was three hours ago.”
“No.”
Luca looked at me.
“Since eleven days ago.”
Silence.
“Why?”
He didn't answer.
I stepped toward him.
“Why were you watching me?”
The unconscious man groaned.
One of Luca's guards dragged him away.
Luca waited until the bedroom was empty.
Then he reached into his pocket.
He placed something on my kitchen counter.
A photograph.
My brother Patrick.
Alive.
Standing beside Luca.
My knees nearly gave out.
The picture had been taken outside a warehouse.
Patrick was smiling.
Luca wasn't.
“What is this?”
“Your brother worked for me.”
I looked up.
“No.”
“He did.”
“Patrick sold construction equipment.”
“That was what he told you.”
I stared at the photograph.
Patrick had always protected me.
Paid part of my college tuition.
Fixed my car.
Called every Sunday.
Then, two years earlier, police found him dead after what they described as a robbery gone wrong.
“What happened to him?”
Luca's expression hardened.
“Your brother discovered that someone inside my organization was moving money for Victor Serrano.”
The name meant nothing to me.
Apparently my face showed it.
“Victor runs crews on the South Side,” Luca continued. “Loans. Extortion. Smuggling.”
“And Patrick?”
“Collected evidence.”
My breathing became shallow.
“He was going to testify?”
“No.”
Luca's eyes met mine.
“He was going to give it to me.”
The implication hit harder than I expected.
“They killed him before he could.”
“Yes.”
I looked toward the broken window.
“And now they're here.”
Luca nodded.
“Why?”
“Because Patrick hid something before he died.”
“I don't have anything.”
“They believe you do.”
“I don't.”
“They won't care.”
A guard entered.
“Luca.”
He held up a small device.
“Tracker under her car.”
Luca's face became stone.
My mouth went dry.
“My car?”
“Stay here.”
He walked toward the door.
I followed.
“What are you doing?”
“Handling it.”
“What does that mean?”
He stopped.
For one second, nobody spoke.
Then Luca looked down at my mismatched socks.
His gaze rose to my face.
“You marched into a room full of armed men with a fire extinguisher three hours ago.”
“Yes.”
“You clearly have no functioning survival instinct.”
“Excuse me?”
“So until I solve this problem, you're staying where I can see you.”
I laughed.
Actually laughed.
“You're insane.”
“Possibly.”
“You don't own me.”
“No.”
His voice lowered.
“But I own this building.”
I froze.
“What?”
“I purchased it nine days ago.”
My brain stopped working.
“You bought my apartment building?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
His answer came without hesitation.
May you like
“To keep you alive.”
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