CHAPTER 2: THE HUNTED WOMAN
The room went silent.
Not ordinary silence.
The kind that follows a gunshot.
The kind that arrives when everyone realizes something terrible has already happened and there is no way to undo it.
Vincent didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Didn't speak.
But the temperature in the library seemed to drop ten degrees.
The wounded guard stood frozen in the doorway.
Rain battered the windows behind him.
"We know about the waitress."
The words echoed in my head.
Over and over.
Like a death sentence.
Slowly, Vincent turned toward me.
For the first time since I'd met him, I saw something close to guilt in his eyes.
Not fear for himself.
Fear for me.
"How many people saw it?" he asked the guard.
"About twenty."
"Who else knows?"
"The security team. Elena. Doctor Klein."
Vincent nodded once.
"Nobody speaks about Grace to anyone."
"Yes, Boss."
The guard left.
The door clicked shut.
I swallowed.
"Tell me the truth."
Vincent looked at me.
"About what?"
"Am I going to die?"
His jaw tightened.
"No."
"You hesitated."
"I was thinking."
"About how likely it is?"
His eyes hardened.
"No."
"Then what?"
"About how many people I'll have to kill if they try."
The answer should have terrified me.
Instead, it somehow made me feel safer.
Which was probably a sign that my life had gone completely insane.
Twenty-four hours ago I'd been worrying about rent.
Now Chicago's most powerful crime boss was discussing potential murders on my behalf.
I sat heavily in a leather chair.
"I want to go home."
Vincent shook his head immediately.
"No."
"My cat is home."
"No."
"I have work tomorrow."
"No."
"I have bills."
"No."
"Stop saying no."
"No."
I glared at him.
To my surprise, he almost smiled again.
Then his phone rang.
The smile vanished instantly.
He answered.
"Talk."
A voice exploded through the speaker.
Even from where I sat, I could hear shouting.
Vincent listened.
His face grew darker with every passing second.
Finally he ended the call.
"What happened?"
He looked at me.
"The apartment building across from yours exploded."
My heart stopped.
"What?"
"Ten minutes ago."
The world tilted.
I grabbed the edge of the chair.
"No..."
Vincent crossed the room.
"Grace."
"My apartment—"
"Still standing."
"Then why—"
"They missed."
The meaning hit me immediately.
Someone had aimed at my building.
Someone had believed I was there.
Someone had been willing to kill dozens of innocent people to eliminate a waitress.
My stomach turned.
"Oh God."
"They know your address."
I felt sick.
Actually sick.
Like I might throw up.
Vincent crouched in front of me.
"Look at me."
I couldn't.
"Grace."
I finally raised my eyes.
His voice softened.
"They wanted you dead."
I nodded weakly.
"They failed."
That wasn't comforting.
Not remotely.
Because failure meant they would try again.
And next time they might succeed.
Three hours later I found myself sitting in the back of a black armored SUV.
Chicago blurred past the windows.
The city looked different now.
More dangerous.
Every stranger seemed suspicious.
Every passing car felt threatening.
Vincent sat beside me.
Three more SUVs followed behind us.
Two led the convoy.
The level of security was ridiculous.
And somehow still didn't feel like enough.
"Where are we going?"
"My house."
I laughed nervously.
"Your house."
"Yes."
"Please tell me it's not a castle."
He looked out the window.
"It's not a castle."
Five minutes later we drove through iron gates larger than my apartment.
I stared.
"That's a castle."
"It's technically a mansion."
"That's a castle with better marketing."
The property stretched across acres.
Stone walls.
Private gardens.
Fountains.
Security checkpoints.
Armed guards.
More cameras than a bank vault.
I couldn't even see where the estate ended.
The SUV stopped.
A butler opened my door.
A butler.
Because apparently this nightmare required a butler.
I stepped out.
My worn waitress shoes sank into a gravel driveway that probably cost more than my yearly salary.
"This is ridiculous."
Vincent walked beside me.
"It keeps people alive."
"Pretty sure it also causes property taxes to have nightmares."
That earned an actual smile.
Brief.
Dangerous.
Unexpectedly attractive.
I immediately hated that I noticed.
The front doors opened.
A woman stormed out.
Elena Moretti.
She crossed the entrance hall like a hurricane.
Then slapped Vincent.
Hard.
The sound echoed through the mansion.
Nobody moved.
Nobody breathed.
I certainly didn't.
Vincent touched his cheek.
"Feel better?"
"No."
She slapped him again.
I nearly choked.
This woman was either incredibly brave or completely insane.
Possibly both.
Tears filled her eyes.
"You idiot."
Vincent sighed.
"Hello to you too."
"You were dead!"
"I noticed."
"You were gone for three days!"
"I know."
"I buried you!"
His expression softened.
The anger drained from Elena's face.
Suddenly she looked less like a ruthless mafia princess and more like a sister who had nearly lost the person she loved most.
She hugged him fiercely.
And this time Vincent hugged her back.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly.
She buried her face in his shoulder.
For several seconds nobody spoke.
Then Elena noticed me.
Her eyes narrowed immediately.
"Who is she?"
Ah.
There it was.
The suspicious sister routine.
Vincent answered before I could.
"Grace Holloway."
"The waitress."
"The waitress."
"The one who found you."
"Yes."
Elena studied me.
I suddenly felt like I was being evaluated by a very expensive shark.
Finally she nodded.
"Thank you."
The sincerity surprised me.
"You don't need to thank me."
"Yes, I do."
Her voice trembled.
"Because if you hadn't spoken..."
She couldn't finish.
Vincent squeezed her shoulder.
For the first time I realized how close she'd come to losing him.
And how much she'd suffered believing he was already gone.
Maybe the Morettis weren't monsters.
At least not all of them.
Maybe they were just people.
Dangerous people.
Complicated people.
But people.
Unfortunately, that realization lasted approximately thirty seconds.
Because a gunshot suddenly echoed from somewhere outside.
Everyone froze.
Another shot.
Then another.
The security alarms exploded across the estate.
Red lights flashed.
Guards rushed through hallways.
Vincent instantly shoved Elena and me behind him.
"What now?" I asked.
A bodyguard sprinted into the foyer.
His face was white.
"Boss!"
"What happened?"
The guard swallowed.
"The north gate."
"What about it?"
The man's voice shook.
"Someone delivered a package."
A terrible feeling settled in my stomach.
Vincent clearly felt it too.
"What package?"
The guard hesitated.
Then looked directly at me.
My blood turned to ice.
"Grace..."
"What?"
His face had gone pale.
"Someone left a coffin."
The room became silent.
Nobody moved.
Nobody breathed.
I stared.
"A coffin?"
The guard nodded.
"With her name on it."
Every ounce of warmth vanished from my body.
"No..."
Vincent's expression turned murderous.
"Open it."
"Boss—"
"Now."
The guard swallowed.
"We already did."
Something in his tone made my heart pound harder.
Vincent stepped forward.
"What was inside?"
The guard looked sick.
Absolutely sick.
"Not what."
Vincent went still.
The guard's voice cracked.
"Who."
A horrible silence followed.
Then:
"Grace..."
I couldn't breathe.
"Who was inside the coffin?"
The guard looked directly into my eyes.
And delivered the answer that changed everything.
"It was your mother."
The floor seemed to disappear beneath me.
Because my mother had been dead for fifteen years.
May you like
Or at least...
That's what I'd been told.
