CHAPTER 1: THE WOMAN WHO SAW A GHOST
Vincent Moretti leaned close enough that I smelled cedar, smoke, and something metallic beneath his skin.
Then he whispered words that made every hair on my body stand up.
“Because now they’ll come for you first.”
My mouth went dry.
“What?”
Before he could answer, chaos exploded across the ballroom.
A gunshot shattered one of the crystal chandeliers.
Glass rained from the ceiling.
People screamed.
The guests who had spent the last hour pretending to mourn suddenly revealed what they truly were—politicians, businessmen, lawyers, and criminals all scrambling for cover.
Vincent moved faster than a man who had supposedly been dead for three days.
His arm wrapped around my waist.
“Down!”
The second shot hit the mahogany casket.
Wood exploded inches from where his head had been moments earlier.
Someone was trying to finish the job.
The ballroom erupted.
Armed guards flooded the room.
Women ducked beneath tables.
Men pulled pistols from ankle holsters.
I found myself on the marble floor with Vincent covering me.
The image would have been ridiculous if it weren’t terrifying.
Chicago’s most feared crime boss shielding a waitress.
“Stay behind me,” he ordered.
“I didn’t ask for any of this!”
“No,” he agreed coldly. “You didn’t.”
Another shot.
A bodyguard crashed through a side door.
“Roof!”
Vincent’s expression darkened.
“Take him alive.”
The guard rushed away.
Within seconds, three more men followed.
The shooting stopped.
But the silence that followed felt even worse.
Because now everyone was staring.
At Vincent.
At me.
At the impossible fact that a dead man was standing in the middle of his own funeral.
And holding the waitress who had exposed it.
Across the room, Elena Moretti’s face had gone completely white.
“Vincent...” she whispered.
For the first time since opening his eyes, his expression softened.
“Sis.”
Tears filled her eyes.
Then she crossed the room and threw her arms around him.
The guests watched in stunned silence.
I expected Vincent to embrace her.
Instead, his eyes remained fixed on the crowd.
Searching.
Calculating.
Hunting.
He hugged Elena with one arm while continuing to scan every face in the room.
Like he still didn’t know who had betrayed him.
Maybe he didn’t.
A few feet away stood Uncle Raymond.
Perfectly composed.
Perfectly calm.
Too calm.
Vincent noticed.
So did I.
And apparently Raymond noticed me noticing.
His blue eyes slid toward mine.
A smile touched his lips.
Tiny.
Brief.
Terrifying.
The kind of smile a snake might give a mouse.
I looked away immediately.
A mistake.
Because when I looked back, he was still watching me.
The estate remained locked down for four hours.
No one left.
Phones were confiscated.
Security cameras were checked.
Every guest was questioned.
Including me.
Especially me.
I sat alone in a library larger than my apartment.
Dark oak shelves stretched to the ceiling.
Rain began tapping against the enormous windows.
Across from me sat two men in black suits.
Neither looked happy.
“Tell us exactly what you saw,” one said.
“For the sixth time?”
“For the sixth time.”
I sighed.
“I was fixing flowers.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m a waitress.”
He ignored the sarcasm.
“What happened next?”
“I saw his throat move.”
“That’s all?”
“I leaned closer.”
“Then?”
“I saw him breathing.”
The men exchanged glances.
The older one leaned forward.
“You understand how unlikely that sounds?”
“Less unlikely than a dead man sitting up during his own funeral.”
Neither laughed.
The door opened.
Both men stood immediately.
Vincent entered.
The room changed.
That was the only way I could describe it.
He wasn’t especially large.
Maybe six foot two.
Broad shoulders.
Dark hair.
Gray eyes.
But every person reacted to him the way sailors react to a storm rolling over the horizon.
Instinctively.
Automatically.
The bodyguards left without a word.
Now we were alone.
I stood.
“Mr. Moretti—”
“Sit.”
I sat.
He remained standing.
Studying me.
“You’re twenty-six.”
I blinked.
“How do you know that?”
“You filled out employment paperwork.”
Right.
Of course.
“You live in Bridgeport.”
I frowned.
“That’s creepy.”
“You have two part-time jobs.”
“Still creepy.”
“You’ve never been arrested.”
“Congratulations?”
His mouth twitched.
The first hint of amusement I had seen from him.
Then it vanished.
“Why did you notice me breathing?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“A simple one.”
I stared at him.
The answer seemed obvious.
“Because I was looking.”
“Everyone else was looking too.”
“No,” I said quietly.
“They were looking at a dead man.”
His expression sharpened.
“You were looking at a person.”
The room fell silent.
Something changed in his eyes.
Not attraction.
Not yet.
Recognition.
As though he had just discovered a piece of information he hadn’t expected to find.
“You’re different from them,” he said.
“I’m poor.”
“That too.”
I laughed despite myself.
To my surprise, he almost smiled.
Then the door burst open.
A guard rushed inside.
“Boss.”
Vincent turned.
“What?”
“We found the shooter.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
The guard hesitated.
“There’s another problem.”
Vincent’s voice became dangerous.
“What problem?”
The guard glanced at me.
“Someone leaked her name.”
My stomach dropped.
“What?”
The guard continued.
“Social media. News channels. Crime forums.”
Vincent’s face darkened.
“They’re calling her the Funeral Girl.”
A chill ran down my spine.
“No...”
The guard swallowed.
“Half of Chicago knows she was the one who exposed what happened.”
Vincent cursed.
The word sounded lethal.
I stared at him.
“Why is that bad?”
Both men looked at me.
Neither answered immediately.
Finally Vincent walked to the window.
Rain hammered the glass.
“Because whoever tried to kill me failed.”
My heartbeat quickened.
“And?”
“And now they need someone else to blame.”
The realization hit me all at once.
Hard.
Cold.
Terrifying.
Me.
I was the witness.
The loose end.
The girl who ruined the plan.
“Oh God.”
“Yes.”
“What do I do?”
Vincent turned.
For the first time all day, genuine concern appeared in his eyes.
“You come with me.”
My jaw dropped.
“Absolutely not.”
“You’re not safe alone.”
“You’re a mafia boss.”
“Exactly.”
“That’s not comforting!”
“It should be.”
“It really shouldn’t!”
Again that tiny flicker of amusement.
Again it vanished.
“Grace.”
The way he said my name made me pay attention.
“You have two choices.”
I folded my arms.
“Which are?”
“You stay under my protection.”
“And the second?”
He looked directly into my eyes.
“The people who buried me alive find you first.”
The room became very quiet.
Outside, thunder rolled over Lake Michigan.
I realized something then.
This wasn’t a choice.
Not really.
Because somewhere in Chicago, someone powerful had nearly murdered Vincent Moretti.
And I was the only witness who had accidentally ruined everything.
Vincent held out his hand.
“Come with me.”
I stared at it.
Every instinct screamed no.
Normal people did not accept invitations from men like Vincent Moretti.
Normal people ran.
Normal people disappeared.
Normal people survived.
But normal people also didn’t discover breathing corpses at funerals.
Slowly, reluctantly, I placed my hand in his.
The second our fingers touched, the library door opened again.
A terrified young guard stumbled inside.
Blood covered his shirt.
“Boss!”
Vincent stepped forward instantly.
“What happened?”
The guard’s face was pale.
“They got to the shooter.”
Silence.
“What?”
The guard swallowed hard.
“He was dead before we could question him.”
Vincent’s expression became ice.
“How?”
The guard looked directly at me.
And what he said next made my blood run cold.
“Someone carved a message into his chest.”
A terrible feeling settled in my stomach.
Vincent already knew.
So did I.
“Read it,” he ordered.
The guard hesitated.
May you like
Then spoke.
“WE KNOW ABOUT THE WAITRESS.”
