Chapter 2 - SOMEONE WAS ALREADY WATCHING
The doctors removed eleven pieces of glass from my back.
Eleven.
The biggest required six stitches.
The smallest were picked out with tweezers while I bit into a towel and cursed every expensive champagne company in Illinois.
At two in the morning, the doctor finally stepped away.
“You were lucky.”
“People keep saying that tonight.”
He frowned.
“You don’t feel lucky?”
“I got stabbed by a champagne flute.”
“That’s fair.”
He left.
I immediately reached for my clothes.
A nurse blocked the door.
“You’re not leaving yet.”
“I need to get home.”
“There are four men outside your room.”
I froze.
“What?”
“Very large men.”
I closed my eyes.
“Of course there are.”
Then Dante walked in.
No jacket.
White dress shirt rolled to his forearms.
No tie.
Somehow, that made him look more dangerous.
Less like a businessman.
More like the man underneath.
“You received a message.”
Not a question.
I tightened my grip around my phone.
“How do you know?”
“Because the number belongs to someone connected to Vincent Caruso.”
“I don’t know who that is.”
“You don’t want to.”
“Wonderful. Then I’ll forget the name.”
Dante pulled a chair closer.
“You can’t forget this.”
“I can try.”
“You were threatened less than an hour after saving Matteo.”
“Maybe it’s some idiot from the restaurant.”
“It isn’t.”
I stared at him.
“How can you possibly know that already?”
His expression said the answer should be obvious.
Right.
Mafia.
I hated that my life had apparently become a movie.
Dante held out his hand.
“Give me the phone.”
“No.”
“Elena.”
“It’s my phone.”
“It’s also evidence.”
“Evidence for what?”
“That someone just made the biggest mistake of his life.”
His voice was so calm that my skin prickled.
I handed it over.
He read the message once.
That was enough.
His face became completely still.
“What happens now?”
“You don’t go home.”
“Yes, I do.”
“No.”
“I have clothes there.”
“I’ll replace them.”
“I have food.”
“I own grocery stores.”
“I have a plant.”
He paused.
“A plant?”
“His name is Kevin.”
Dante stared at me.
“You named your plant Kevin?”
“Don’t judge me. He’s been more loyal than most men I’ve dated.”
Something dangerous disappeared from his face for half a second.
Then he actually smiled.
It changed him.
And that frightened me more than the gun I noticed beneath his shirt.
“I’ll have someone get Kevin.”
“No one is breaking into my apartment.”
“They won’t need to.”
He raised my keys.
I stared.
“When did you take those?”
“When you were unconscious.”
“That’s stealing.”
“That’s protecting.”
“You mafia people have very creative dictionaries.”
The smile vanished.
“Elena, listen carefully.”
He leaned forward.
“Caruso has been trying to find a weakness in my organization for two years.”
“I’m not part of your organization.”
“He won’t care.”
“I’m a waitress.”
“You saved my son.”
“That does not make me family.”
Dante’s gaze sharpened.
“To him, it makes you valuable.”
I hated the way that word landed.
Valuable.
I had spent years being nobody.
Now being noticed might get me killed.
“What if I leave Chicago?”
“You’d be dead before you reached Indiana.”
“Comforting.”
“I’m not trying to comfort you.”
“Clearly.”
“I’m trying to keep you alive.”
The door opened.
One of his men entered.
Tall.
Gray suit.
Broken nose.
“Boss.”
Dante stood.
“What?”
The man looked at me before speaking.
“We checked her apartment.”
My chest tightened.
“You did what?”
He ignored me.
“Door was open.”
Dante went cold.
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“I locked it.”
The man nodded.
“Place was torn apart.”
My mouth went dry.
“Kevin?”
Both men looked at me.
“My plant.”
The guard looked uncomfortable.
“Plant’s fine.”
I exhaled.
Dante gave me a look.
“What?”
“I like that plant.”
His guard continued.
“They left something on the bed.”
Dante’s expression shifted.
“What?”
The man pulled out his phone.
He showed Dante a picture.
I couldn’t see it.
But I saw Dante’s reaction.
His jaw locked.
“What is it?”
He didn’t answer.
“Dante.”
He looked at me.
That was the first time I used his first name.
Something flickered in his eyes.
Then he turned the phone.
On my bed lay the red waitress apron I had worn the night before.
Except I had left that apron in my locker at Aurelio’s.
Someone had taken it.
Placed it carefully across my pillow.
And pinned a photograph to the center with a kitchen knife.
A photograph of Matteo.
Someone had drawn a black X over his face.
May you like
Below it were three handwritten words.
Next time, move.
