Chapter 1 - The Shadow in the Rearview
The weight of the charcoal wool coat hung over Nina’s shoulders like a shield made of wealth. It smelled of expensive cedar, crisp winter air, and a faint, intimidating hint of amber cologne. As she walked into Sullivan’s Sandwich Counter the next morning, her coworkers stared. A coat like that didn’t belong on a girl who scraped together quarters for the laundromat.
"Nice threads, Walsh," Marcus, the line cook, called out with a low whistle. "Did you rob a museum or find a sugar daddy in the frozen food aisle?"
"Neither," Nina said shortly, hanging the masterpiece of Italian tailoring in the employee locker. Her hands were still stiff from the morning chill, but her skin still prickled where Dante Ricci’s eyes had locked onto hers the night before. “It’s a coat. Not a favor.” His voice had sounded like gravel rolling in silk.
She tied her stained apron around her waist and tried to shake the unease settling deep in her gut. She couldn't afford distractions. Her phone had buzzed at 5:00 AM with a notification from the Chicago medical center: her father’s next round of palliative care was due, and the insurance company was disputing the claim. Again.
By noon, the lunch rush was a blur of grease, shouting, and slamming plates. Nina worked automatically, her mind drifting to the old man on the bench. Had he survived the night? Did her eighteen-dollar Goodwill coat keep him alive?
"Nina, table four needs a refill on coffee," the manager barked.
She grabbed the pot and swung around, her eyes glancing out the front window.
The blue sedan was still there.
It had been idling across the street since she clocked in at six. Its windows were heavily tinted, dark as ink against the dirty city snow. In a neighborhood like this, cars didn't just sit for six hours with the engine running unless someone inside was waiting. And they weren't waiting for a sandwich.
When her shift ended at three, Nina walked out the back door, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She had wrapped Dante's cashmere coat tightly around herself, almost wishing it possessed the power to protect her from more than just the weather.
She took the long way toward the dry-cleaning shop for her second shift, cutting through a narrow alleyway behind Clement Street.
A heavy crunch of snow echoed behind her.
Nina accelerated her pace. Her breath came in short, ragged puffs of white mist.
"Nina Walsh," a voice called out. It wasn't the smooth, dangerous purr of Dante Ricci. This voice was rough, jagged, and carried the unmistakable accent of the city's docks.
She spun around, backing against the cold brick wall of a warehouse. Two men stepped into the alley, blocking both exits. They wore heavy dark jackets, their hands buried deep in their pockets, their eyes hollow and cold.
"Who are you?" Nina demanded, chin lifted despite the terror clawing at her throat. "What do you want? I don’t have any money."
The taller man sneered, stepping closer. "We don't want your pocket change, sweetheart. We want what your old man stole from the syndicate before he got sick. The ledger. And we know he gave it to you before he fled to Chicago."
Nina’s mind went blank. The ledger? Her father was a retired schoolteacher. "You have the wrong person. My dad is a teacher. He’s dying in a hospital!"
"Save it," the shorter one snapped, pulling a glinting switchblade from his pocket. The silver blade hissed open. "We’ve been tracking you for weeks. You’re going to come with us, and you’re going to tell us exactly where the old man buried it. If you scream, we tear that pretty little coat right off your back."
They lunged. Nina braced herself to fight, scanning the icy ground for a pipe, a rock—anything.
Suddenly, a deafening screech of tires echoed through the alley.
A massive black Escalade smashed through the rusted metal trash cans at the mouth of the alley, barreling straight toward them like a roaring beast of steel. The thugs scattered, throwing themselves against the walls as the vehicle slammed to a halt a mere two inches from Nina’s knees.
The rear door flew open.
"Get in," a cold, commanding voice ordered from the darkness inside.
May you like
Dante Ricci reached out, his gloved hand gripping her wrist and pulling her into the leather-scented warmth of the vehicle before the thugs could even recover their footing. As the Escalade reversed furiously out of the alley, Nina looked up into Dante’s dark, furious eyes.
"Who the hell," Dante whispered, his jaw clenched so tightly a muscle ticked in his cheek, "are those men, and why are they trying to kill you?"
