Chapter 4 - Blood on the Checkerboard FloorNora Ellis fumbled with her apartment keys, her hands still shaking from the terror of the night before. The heavy wool of Dominic’s cashmere coat enveloped her, keeping out the morning chill, but a deep, instinctive dread gnawed at her stomach.
She pushed open the door to her cramped studio apartment—and froze.
Her small kitchenette was completely dismantled. Flour was dumped across the linoleum, cushions were slashed open, and framed photographs of her mother were smashed on the floor. Standing in the center of the wreckage was a tall man with slicked-back blonde hair and a jagged, crimson scar running from his ear down his neck.
"Looking for something, sweetheart?" the man asked, flashing a cold, predatory smile.
Nora backed toward the door, her hand frantically reaching behind her for the knob. "Get out of my home! I'm calling the police!"
The man laughed, a dry, grating sound, and pulled a heavy silver switchblade from his pocket. "The police won't help you, Nora. Not down here. Now, where did the girl put it?"
"I don't know what you're talking about!" she screamed, ducking just as the man lunged forward.
Before the blade could reach her, the front door exploded inward with a deafening crash. Luca and two of Dominic’s heavies flooded the room like a localized hurricane. Luca didn't hesitate; he crossed the small room in two strides, grabbed the scarred man by the collar, and slammed his face into the kitchen counter with a sickening crunch.
"Clear!" Luca barked, pinning the intruder to the floor with a heavy boot on his spine. He looked up at Nora, who was cowering against the refrigerator, breathing heavily. "You okay, Miss Ellis?"
Nora nodded numbly, staring at the blood pooling on her kitchen floor. "Who... who are these people?"
"Men who are about to learn the definition of regret," a cold voice echoed from the hallway.
Dominic Moretti stepped into the apartment. He didn't look like a grieving father or a local businessman; he looked like an executioner. His eyes scanned the wrecked room, lingering for a fraction of a second on Nora’s terrified face, before locking onto the man pinned beneath Luca’s boot.
Dominic knelt down, grabbing the scarred man by his bloodied hair and jerking his head back.
"Leo Santoro sends his regards," the man spat, blood bubbling on his lips. "He says the game is just beginning, Moretti. He has what's on the chip, and he has—"
Dominic didn't let him finish. With a cold, calculated precision, he pressed a heavy signet ring against the man's throat until his eyes rolled back in unconsciousness.
"Tie him up," Dominic ordered, standing up and dusting off his cuffs. He looked at Nora, whose eyes were wide with a mixture of horror and awe. "Pack a bag, Nora."
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"What?" she gasped. "Pack a bag? Why would I do that?"
"Because your apartment is no longer safe," Dominic said flatly, stepping closer to her. "And neither is your life. You are coming with me to Gladwyne."
