Chapter 2 - The Tablet Screen
The screen of the tablet glowed in the dim light of the hallway, casting harsh shadows across Dante’s face.
Whatever he read erased the devastated father standing at my door and replaced him with the ruthless syndicate boss I had run away from. His jaw locked. His shoulders squared. The vulnerability in his dark eyes hardened into glacial ice.
“Mia,” Dante commanded, his voice dropping into a register that made the floorboards vibrate. “Step back from the door.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I said, my fingers tightening on the chain lock.
“You do not have a choice,” he said. He didn't yell. He didn't raise his voice. That was what made it terrifying. “There is a hit squad in the freight elevator. They will be on this floor in forty seconds.”
I froze. “A hit squad? For you?”
“For you.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. I was a civilian. I had intentionally lived as a ghost for six months, paying for my groceries in cash, working under the table at a bakery. I was nobody.
Dante shoved his shoulder against the door. The cheap metal chain groaned.
“Open it, Mia. Or I break it.”
I looked at my swollen stomach. The baby shifted, a tiny, fluttering kick against my ribs. I slid the chain free.
Dante moved with terrifying speed. He stepped inside, pushing me behind his broad back as his three security men flooded the tiny studio apartment. They didn't look at my mismatched furniture or the bare walls. They moved straight to the windows, drawing heavy, suppressed handguns.
“How did they find me?” I whispered, panic finally seizing my throat.
Dante turned to me. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a heavy silver lighter. He didn't smoke, but he turned it over and over in his palm—a habit he only used when he was calculating casualties.
“They didn't find you,” Dante said, his eyes scanning the hallway before kicking the door shut. “They tracked the medical profile your new obstetrician uploaded to the state registry this morning. They were waiting for an alert.”
I stopped breathing. “My doctor?”
“The clinic is owned by a shell company,” Dante explained, his voice devoid of emotion. “A shell company controlled by the Falcone family.”
The Falcones. His oldest rivals.
Before I could process the betrayal, the sound of heavy boots echoed in the corridor.
“Boss,” one of his men hissed. “Four targets. Heavy armor.”
“Fire escape,” Dante ordered.
He didn't grab my arm. He didn't drag me. He looked at me, leaving the choice to me for the first time in our history.
“We go out the window, or we die in this room, Mia. I will not let them touch you. But you have to move.”
The door handle rattled.
Then came the deafening sound of a shotgun blast tearing through the deadbolts. Wood splintered across my cheap linoleum floor.
May you like
I didn't think. I ran for the window.
Dante shielded my body with his own as the glass shattered inward, the cold Brooklyn rain pouring into the room.
