Chapter 2 - He wore a slate-gray suit and held a crystal tumbler containing approximately 1 inch of amber liquor.
His eyes moved immediately toward the oversized sleeve covering Nema’s bruised wrist.
“Get in, Nema.”
She entered.
The heavy door closed behind her.
The sound of her neighborhood vanished.
Before the vehicle had even started moving, Nema spoke.
“I didn’t tell anyone. I don’t know who you are. I don’t want to know. I just didn’t want you to drink it. That’s all.”
Her breathing accelerated.
“We’re even.”
Dom took a measured drink.
He did not appear angry.
He looked interested.
“Tommy Romano was my right hand for 10 years.”
Nema pressed herself closer to the opposite door.
“He baptized my nephew,” Dom continued. “He ate dinner at my mother’s table.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
Dom put down the glass.
“Tommy was a rat.”
His voice remained calm.
“He sold me out to a rival family.”
Nema said nothing.
“The powder he put in my coffee was ricin. If I’d taken a single sip, my organs would have started shutting down before I reached my front door.”
The blood drained from Nema’s face.
It had not been a sedative.
It had not been a warning.
It had been intended to kill him slowly and violently.
“You saved my life, Nema Reyes.”
Dom leaned slightly toward her.
“In my world, a blood debt is the heaviest currency there is.”
His eyes remained fixed on hers.
“And I don’t like being in debt.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
Nema’s voice hardened.
“The $100 tip was enough.”
Dom gave a brief laugh without humor.
Then he removed a slim black leather folder from inside his jacket.
He dropped it onto the seat between them.
“Open it.”
Nema hesitated.
Then she did.
Inside was a thick stack of banded $100 bills and a set of heavy brass keys.
“$50,000,” Dom said.
Nema stared at him.
“And the keys to a newly renovated apartment in the Gold Coast. Rent paid for the next 5 years.”
Nema looked at the money.
She had never seen that much cash in one place.
It represented freedom.
No more late rent.
No more deciding between groceries and utilities.
No more double shifts until her feet went numb.
Then she looked at Dom.
Nobody handed someone a new life without attaching chains to it.
“What’s the catch?”
A flicker of respect appeared in his eyes.
“The catch,” Dom said quietly, “is that you’re now under my protection.”
He paused.
“Whether you want to be or not.”
His expression darkened.
“And my enemies know exactly who spilled that coffee.”
The Gold Coast penthouse was beautiful.
Nema hated it almost immediately.
Heavy rain struck the floor-to-ceiling windows while she stood barefoot on heated hardwood holding a cup of chamomile tea she did not want.
The city glittered far below.
The $50,000 remained untouched in a shoebox beneath her new bed.
She had not spent a dollar.
The kitchen looked designed for a professional chef.
Marble.
Steel.
Glass.
Appliances she did not understand.
Her old apartment had been filled with subway noise, shouting neighbors, and sirens.
Here, the silence felt suffocating.
Leo, the enormous man who had collected her in the Maybach, sat outside her door for 12-hour shifts.
At night, another guard named Pauly replaced him.
Neither man spoke unless necessary.
They simply remained there.
Watching.
2 days after Dom left her in the penthouse, the intercom buzzed.
“Mr. Vasquez is coming up,” Leo said.
Moments later, the door opened.
Dom entered wearing a black cashmere turtleneck beneath a tailored charcoal suit.
He looked exhausted.
Dark shadows marked the skin beneath his eyes.
He walked directly to the leather sofa and sat.
“Nice place,” Nema said from beside the window.
She kept approximately 12 feet between them.
“Could use more bars.”
Dom glanced toward her.
“You’re restless.”
“I’m unemployed. I’m bored. And I have a bodyguard eating tuna sandwiches outside my bedroom at 3:00 in the morning.”
She folded her arms.
“Yes. I’m restless.”
The slight amusement in Dom’s face disappeared.
“Tommy didn’t act alone.”
Nema stopped.
“He didn’t have the brains to obtain weaponized ricin. He didn’t have the courage to start a war.”
Dom leaned forward.
“He was bought.”
“By who?”
“The Bianke family.”
His voice stayed flat.
“South Side. They’ve been trying to move into my territory for 3 years.”
Nema tightened her arms across her chest.
“And what does that have to do with me being locked inside a luxury prison?”
“Tommy made a phone call after we left the diner.”
Dom looked directly at her.
“Before my men reached him, he told his handler the hit failed.”
Nema’s stomach tightened.
“He told them a waitress deliberately spilled the coffee.”
“He blamed me.”
“Yes.”
Dom did not soften it.
“He was trying to save himself.”
Nema swallowed.
“Did it work?”
“No.”
A pause.
“Tommy is dead.”
The words were delivered as casually as a weather report.
Nema stared at him.
“So now the Bianke family wants me dead.”
“They want revenge, leverage, or both.”
Dom stood.
“Either way, they consider you a loose end.”
He approached her.
“In my business, loose ends get clipped.”
Nema’s grip tightened around her tea.
Dom stopped roughly 2 feet away.
“This apartment has a private elevator, reinforced steel doors, and security cameras covering every blind spot.”
His voice dropped.
“I didn’t bring you here to imprison you, Nema.”
His eyes remained fixed on her.
“I brought you here to keep you breathing.”
“I don’t belong here.”
Dom lifted a hand.
He did not touch her face.
Instead, he brushed a strand of hair away from her shoulder.
“Nobody belongs anywhere.”
His knuckles barely touched the fabric of her sweater.
“We survive where we land.”
Then he stepped back.
“Tomorrow you can leave.”
Nema looked surprised.
“Leo goes with you.”
He turned toward the door.
“Get some sleep.”
After another 3 days inside the penthouse, Nema could no longer tolerate the silence.
She wanted traffic.
Crowds.
Noise.
She wanted the imperfect, filthy city she understood.
She put on worn jeans, practical boots, and a black peacoat.
When she opened the front door, Leo was already there.
“I’m going to the grocery store.”
He nodded.
“I’ll drive.”
They took the Maybach.
The absurdity of using a vehicle worth nearly $500,000 to buy coffee beans and bread was not lost on Nema.
The market Leo chose was located in a wealthy neighborhood several miles from her old life.
Everything was clean.
Quiet.
Perfectly arranged.
Nema placed a bag of dark-roast coffee beans into her basket and moved toward the bakery.
Leo remained exactly 3 steps behind her.
He barely looked at the merchandise.
He watched reflections.
Hands.
Doorways.
Waistbands.
Nema reached for a loaf of sourdough.
Another hand reached simultaneously.
“Oh. Excuse me.”
The man appeared harmless.
Late 30s.
Wire-rimmed glasses.
Tan trench coat.
“Go ahead,” Nema said.
“I’m not in a hurry.”
The man did not take the bread.
He studied her.
His pale blue eyes were too still.
“You look familiar.”
Nema’s body tightened.
“Do you work on the East Side?”
He smiled.
“Frank’s Diner?”
Her heart accelerated.
“No.”
She turned away.
“You have the wrong person.”
The man stepped into her path.
His smile vanished.
“I don’t think I do.”
He lowered his voice.
“Clumsy girl. Spilled coffee on a mutual friend.”
Nema opened her mouth.
Before she could shout, Leo appeared behind the man.
One enormous hand closed around his shoulder.
“The lady said you have the wrong person.”
The stranger’s right hand moved toward the inside of his coat.
Leo reacted instantly.
He drove his knee into the man’s thigh.
The leg collapsed.
Leo caught him and slammed him face-first into the metal bread display.
Loaves scattered across the floor.
Leo pressed his forearm against the back of the man’s neck.
“Keep your hands where I can see them.”
Customers hurried away.
Leo looked toward Nema.
“Walk to the car, Miss Reyes.”
His tone changed.
“Do not run.”
He tightened his grip on the man.
“Walk. Now.”
Nema obeyed.
Every step toward the exit felt impossibly long.
She expected a gunshot behind her.
She reached the Maybach and climbed into the rear compartment.
Approximately 2 minutes later, Leo entered the driver’s seat.
He adjusted his tie.
A tiny smear of blood marked his white collar.
“Is he—”
Nema stopped.
“He’s taking a nap.”
Leo started the vehicle.
“Local police will collect him in 3 minutes.”
Nema stared.
“They’re on our payroll.”
Of course they were.
“Mr. Vasquez has been informed.”
As the car moved away, Nema looked out the window.
Dom had not exaggerated.
The guards were not there to make her feel imprisoned.
Someone had found her after only 3 days.
She was no longer merely a waitress who had witnessed the wrong thing.
She had become part of a criminal war.
The most disturbing realization was that she was beginning to trust the man protecting her.
Dom arrived at the penthouse at exactly 4:00 p.m.
His tie was loose.
His sleeves were rolled back.
He went directly to Nema.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
She looked at him.
“Leo handled it.”
“I know what Leo did.”
Dom ran one hand through his hair.
It was the first time Nema had seen genuine frustration break through his control.
“The man was a low-level Bianke earner. Disposable.”
“So they found me.”
“They tracked the car.”
Dom’s jaw tightened.
“I made a mistake.”
Nema stared at him.
Dom Vasquez admitting fault seemed almost unnatural.
“I let Leo use a recognizable vehicle in a public location. I underestimated how desperate they were.”
Nema folded her arms.
“So what happens now?”
“Pack a bag.”
Dom turned toward the windows.
“We’re leaving.”
“We?”
“The penthouse is compromised. They know the general area.”
He faced her again.
“I’m moving you outside the city.”
“For how long?”
“Until the threat is eliminated.”
Nema laughed bitterly.
“Eliminated.”
She shook her head.
“Meaning until you kill them or they kill you.”
She rubbed both hands over her face.
“I was a waitress, Dom.”
Her voice broke despite her effort.
May you like
“I poured coffee. I wiped ketchup off tables.”
She looked at him.
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