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THE CHUBBY WAITRESS FOUND MAFIA BOSS’S SISTER DYING BEHIND A LOCKED DOOR / Chapter 2 / 6

Chapter 2 - The Hit at the Safehouse

The wolves are at the door, and the only weapon left is a broken bottle and a secret that could destroy the syndicate.The airbags deployed with a deafening bang. Smoke filled the cabin.

Nora coughed, her head ringing painfully against the window. Beside her, Lena was unconscious, her breathing shallow. Adrian was already moving, kicking his jammed door open with brutal force. He reached into the back, grabbing Nora by the collar of her uniform and dragging her out into the freezing slush just as headlights appeared at the end of the alley.

"They tracked the phone," Adrian hissed, pulling a suppressed pistol from his jacket. "Can you run?"

"I... I think so," Nora panted, holding her side. She was a plus-sized woman, used to standing on her feet for twelve-hour shifts, but sprinting for her life in a blizzard was a different story.

"You don't have a choice," Adrian said, lifting Lena onto his shoulder with terrifying strength. "Follow me."

They ducked into an abandoned meatpacking plant, the scent of rusted iron and old blood hanging heavy in the air. Adrian led them down a flight of concrete stairs into a heavily reinforced basement—a hidden safehouse. He slammed the steel door shut and threw three heavy deadbolts.

He laid Lena down on a stainless steel medical table in the center of the room. "There's a medical kit in that cabinet. Stitches, antibiotics, saline. You're going to patch her up."

"I'm a waitress!" Nora screamed, her voice cracking with pure panic. "I serve pancakes and black coffee! I don't do surgery!"

Adrian stepped up to her, his towering frame casting a massive shadow over her. He reached out, his bloody fingers gently tracing her jawline, a terrifying contrast of tenderness and lethal intent. "Your father was a surgeon before he lost his license to gambling, Nora. He taught you how to stitch wounds when you were a teenager. Don't lie to me. I know exactly who you are."

Nora’s heart hammered against her ribs. He had researched her. He knew everything.

"If you save her," Adrian whispered, his breath hot against her ear, "I wipe your father's debt. I protect you from the Volkovs. If she dies on this table... I leave you out there for them."

Nora swallowed hard, looking at the pale, dying girl. She took a deep breath, washing her hands with rubbing alcohol, her hands shaking violently before she forced them into a state of absolute numbness. "Hold the flashlight," she commanded Adrian, her voice suddenly dropping into a tone she hadn't used since her father was alive.

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The ink on the emergency audit report was barely dry when the secure terminal on my desk flashed a violent crimson. I hadn't slept in thirty-six hours, my eyes burning from staring at columns of ghost figures, duplicate invoices, and shell corporations linked to Dominic Rossi. But the red alert wasn’t from Rossi’s faction. It was an internal security flag originating from the estate’s main vault deep beneath the west wing.

The ink on the emergency audit report was barely dry when the secure ter...

The glass shattered into a thousand tiny diamonds on the marble, scattering the light from the chandeliers. The muffled laughter died instantly, replaced by a suffocating, heavy silence that crept outward from the grand staircase.

The glass shattered into a thousand tiny diamonds on the marble, scatter...

The heavy oak doors of my private study clicked shut behind us, locking out the clinical, terrifying silence of the kitchen. Evelyn Crane stood stiffly in front of my mahogany desk, her hands folded over her apron with the rigid precision of someone who had spent decades micromanaging every square inch of my estate. Behind her, Norah hovered near the doorway, clutching her clipboard like a shield.

The heavy oak doors of my private study clicked shut behind us, locking...

For the next two hours, while the sound of gunfire echoed faintly from the streets above, Nora fought for Lena's life. She cleaned the entry wound, bypassed a major artery by millimeters, and stitched the torn muscle with agonizing precision.

Just as she tied off the final knot, the heavy steel door of the safehouse groaned. Someone was cutting through the hinges from the outside with a blowtorch.

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