Chapter 1 - FOUR MINUTES TO LIVE
At 8:51 p.m., Evelyn Carter found out Chicago’s most feared man had four minutes left to live.
The problem?
She was the only person who knew.
And the woman planning his murder was sitting right beside him.
Evelyn stood behind Lorenzo Moretti with a bottle of red wine in one hand, trying not to stare at the phone glowing inside Celeste Vane’s half-open clutch.
The message was short.
North exit secured. Cleaners in position. 8:55.
Evelyn’s heart slammed against her ribs.
She looked at the clock above the bar.
8:51.
Four minutes.
“Miss?”
Lorenzo Moretti’s voice was quiet.
That somehow made it worse.
Evelyn looked down.
One drop of wine had landed on the white tablecloth in front of him.
Every man at Table Four had stopped talking.
Lorenzo lifted his eyes to her.
Dark suit.
Dark eyes.
No expression.
He was thirty-two years old and already responsible for enough whispered funerals to make half the city nervous.
“I’m sorry, sir.”
Evelyn forced herself to breathe.
Across the table, Celeste smiled.
Perfect teeth.
Perfect hair.
Perfect lie.
Then Celeste tapped her thumb twice against her clutch.
Tap.
Tap.
A man by the bar touched his jacket.
Another man near the hallway glanced toward the north exit.
Evelyn understood.
This wasn’t just a message.
It was a countdown.
She backed away.
“Excuse me.”
She reached the service station and nearly dropped the bottle.
Her coworker Maya looked over.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“That bad?”
“Worse.”
Evelyn grabbed a cocktail napkin.
“What are you doing?”
“Making a terrible decision.”
She stole Maya’s pen.
“Hey.”
“I’ll give it back.”
“If we’re both alive tomorrow.”
Maya stopped smiling.
Evelyn wrote:
Your fiancée set you up. Leave now. North exit.
She froze.
“Damn it.”
She scratched out the last two words.
North exit was the trap.
She flipped the napkin over.
Your fiancée set you up. Don’t use north exit.
“Evie.”
Her manager Gilbert appeared behind her.
His face went pale when he saw the note.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
“Throw that away.”
Evelyn looked at him.
Gilbert leaned closer.
His voice dropped.
“You did not see anything tonight.”
That chilled her more than the message.
“You know?”
“I know enough.”
“Then warn him.”
Gilbert stared at her like she had suggested jumping into the river.
“Are you insane?”
“People are going to die.”
“People like us die when we get involved.”
The clock moved.
8:53.
Evelyn folded the napkin.
Gilbert grabbed her arm.
“Go to the kitchen.”
She pulled away.
“Sorry.”
“Evelyn.”
She picked up a fresh wineglass.
“Table Four needs this.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“It does now.”
She walked.
Ten feet.
Eight.
Six.
Celeste noticed her first.
Lorenzo looked up.
Evelyn removed his untouched wineglass and replaced it.
As her hand passed beside his, she slid the folded napkin underneath his fingers.
“Fresh glass, sir.”
His eyes dropped.
Then came back to her.
Celeste tilted her head.
“Something wrong?”
Evelyn looked directly at her.
“No, ma’am.”
For the first time in her life, Evelyn Carter lied perfectly.
She turned away.
Behind her, Lorenzo opened the napkin.
Thirty seconds later, his chair scraped across the marble.
“Dinner’s over.”
Celeste blinked.
“Excuse me?”
Lorenzo buttoned his jacket.
His men immediately stood.
Celeste’s smile disappeared.
“Lorenzo, sit down.”
At the bar, the man in the gray suit reached inside his coat.
Lorenzo saw him.
“DOWN!”
The first gunshot shattered a chandelier.
People screamed.
Glass rained from the ceiling.
A second shot ripped through Table Four.
Then the entire Obsidian exploded into chaos.
Evelyn hit the floor.
“MAYA!”
“I’m here!”
Men drew guns.
Guests crawled beneath tables.
Celeste disappeared behind a marble column.
Lorenzo’s bodyguard fired toward the bar.
“Kitchen!” Evelyn screamed.
Someone grabbed her wrist.
She twisted violently.
“Let go!”
“Move.”
Lorenzo.
Blood streaked his cheek, but he was standing.
“What are you doing?”
“Keeping you alive.”
“I don’t need—”
A bullet struck the wall where her head had been.
Lorenzo dragged her through the kitchen doors.
Cooks scattered.
Pans crashed.
His remaining men followed.
“Loading dock!” one shouted.
“No,” Evelyn yelled.
Lorenzo looked at her.
She pointed toward the freezer hallway.
“There’s a service stairwell behind cold storage. It leads to Lower Wacker.”
“How do you know?”
“I work here.”
Another burst of gunfire tore through the kitchen.
Lorenzo shoved open the freezer door.
“Lead.”
They ran.
Evelyn’s lungs burned.
They hit the stairwell.
Three floors down.
A black SUV waited beneath the building.
Lorenzo pushed Evelyn inside.
“What the hell are you doing?” she shouted.
He climbed in beside her.
The SUV tore away.
Evelyn looked back at the restaurant.
Sirens.
Smoke.
People pouring into the street.
Then Lorenzo turned toward her.
“Who told you?”
“No one.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I saw her phone.”
“Celeste’s?”
“Yes.”
His face changed.
Barely.
But Evelyn saw it.
Pain.
Not surprise.
Pain.
Then his phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
His jaw tightened.
“What?”
The man on the other end spoke rapidly.
Lorenzo slowly turned toward Evelyn.
“Say that again.”
Silence.
Then he lowered the phone.
Evelyn swallowed.
“What happened?”
Lorenzo stared at her.
“They found the shooters’ orders.”
“So?”
His expression went cold.
“The hit wasn’t only for me.”
Evelyn stopped breathing.
May you like
Lorenzo leaned closer.
“They had your photograph.”
