CHAPTER 1 "I Missed My Last Bus to Save a Confused Old
"I Missed My Last Bus to Save a Confused Old Man in the Rain—Then a Mafia Boss Arrived and Changed Everything
I missed the last bus home because I stopped to save an old man standing in the middle of traffic, talking to his dead wife through a shoe. Four minutes later, black SUVs surrounded us, armed men stepped into the rain, and I discovered the confused stranger I had protected was the father of one of the most feared Mafia bosses in Chicago.
My name is Chloe Wells, and that night changed my life forever.
It was 11:42 p.m. when I dragged myself out of a small diner in downtown Chicago. I smelled like burnt coffee, grease, and exhaustion. My manager had spent the entire shift barking orders at me, and my feet felt like they were made of concrete.
I had exactly eight minutes to catch the last bus home.
Eight minutes stood between me and another miserable walk through the rain.
I was twenty-three years old, behind on rent, struggling to keep my online art history degree alive, and surviving on little more than stubborn hope.
Then I saw him.
An elderly man stood in the middle of the street while cars swerved around him.
Rain poured down his expensive suit.
His silver hair clung to his forehead.
And unbelievably, he was holding a black leather shoe to his ear.
“Martha?” he whispered. “The line is bad, my love.”
I stopped walking.
“No,” I muttered to myself. “Don't do this.”
The bus was coming.
I was exhausted.
I needed sleep.
Then a delivery truck barreled toward him.
I ran.
“Sir!” I shouted. “Move!”
He didn't react.
I sprinted into the street and grabbed his arm with every ounce of strength I had left.
The truck roared past us, spraying dirty water as we stumbled beneath the awning of a closed jewelry store.
Behind us, my bus disappeared into the night.
Gone.
The old man shivered violently.
His lips were blue.
His hands trembled around the shoe.
“My name is Chloe,” I said softly. “You're safe now.”
His cloudy eyes focused on me for a second.
“Martha?”
The sadness in his voice broke my heart.
“I'm not Martha,” I said gently. “But I'll stay with you.”
I wrapped my cheap thrift-store coat around his shoulders.
“No,” he protested weakly. “A gentleman doesn't take a lady's coat.”
“This gentleman is freezing,” I replied. “So he's taking it.”
For the first time, he smiled.
Then I noticed the details.
Gold cufflinks.
An expensive watch.
A custom-tailored suit worth more than anything I owned.
“What's your name?” I asked.
“Carlo.”
“Do you know where you live?”
He frowned.
“The house with the lions.”
That wasn't exactly helpful.
I pulled out my phone.
Twelve percent battery remained.
“I'll call the police.”
Suddenly, Carlo grabbed my wrist.
His eyes widened with fear.
“No police,” he whispered. “They are not friends.”
The terror in his voice sent a chill through me.
“Okay,” I said quickly. “No police. Is there someone else?”
“Marco.”
“Who's Marco?”
“He fixes everything.”
From his pocket, Carlo produced a folded card with a gold emblem and a handwritten phone number.
I dialed.
The call connected.
No greeting.
No introduction.
Just silence.
A silence that felt dangerous.
“I think I found your father,” I said nervously. “He's confused and freezing. We're at Fifth and Grand.”
The voice on the other end became sharp instantly.
“Where exactly?”
I repeated the location.
The line disconnected.
Four minutes later, engines growled through the rain.
Three black SUVs appeared around the corner.
My stomach dropped.
The vehicles stopped around us like predators surrounding prey.
Doors opened.
Men in dark suits stepped out.
Their expressions were cold.
Their jackets couldn't quite hide the weapons underneath.
Carlo trembled behind me.
“The bad men,” he whispered.
I didn't know who they were.
I didn't know what was happening.
But I knew one thing.
The frightened old man behind me needed protection.
So I stepped in front of him.
My clothes were soaked.
My body shook from exhaustion.
I smelled like diner grease and coffee.
But I stood my ground.
“Stay back!” I shouted. “If you touch him, I'll scream until every cop in Chicago shows up!”
The men froze.
Then the center SUV door opened.
A tall man stepped into the rain.
The others immediately straightened.
Even the armed guards seemed nervous around him.
His cold eyes moved from Carlo...
To my coat wrapped around his father's shoulders...
To my worn diner uniform.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then he took a step forward.
“Step aside,” he said calmly.
I lifted my chin.
“No.”
The rain hammered against the pavement.
The armed men exchanged uneasy looks.
The stranger stared at me as though I were the first person in years to tell him no.
Then, for the first time, a faint smile appeared on his face.
And that's when I heard one of the guards nervously whisper the name that made everyone else fall silent.
“Boss... that's Marco DeLuca.”
The most feared Mafia leader in Chicago slowly looked back at me.
And then he said something that made every one of his men stare at him in disbelief...
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