Chapter 1 - The Ringing Phone
The sound of the burner phone vibrating on Matteo Conti’s marble coffee table felt louder than the wind battering the lakefront glass. It was nearly midnight. Outside, the Chicago skyline blurred behind a curtain of wet November snow.
I sat with my legs pulled up tight on the leather sofa, Bianca’s oversized gray sweater engulfing my trembling frame. Beside me, Matteo hadn't taken his coat off. He had rolled his sleeves to his forearms, revealing faded silver scars crisscrossing lean, corded muscle. His weapon rested on the console table, out of reach, but its sheer presence dictated the gravity of the room.
The burner screen lit up with an unknown number.
""Don't touch it,"" Matteo murmured, not looking up from his tablet where security feeds flickered silently.
""It's Derek,"" I whispered, bile rising hot in my throat. ""I know the rhythm of his calls. Three short rings, then hang up, then call again. He does it to ensure the phone is near me. If I don't answer by the second ring on the next attempt, there's always a consequence.""
Matteo lifted his gaze. Those cold gray eyes locked onto mine, devoid of judgment yet fiercely assessing. ""You are under my roof, Clara. Consequences do not travel past that elevator door without my signature. Let it ring out.""
The phone chimed again. Once. Twice. Then went dead.
A second later, a voicemail pinged. My hands shook as Matteo reached across, picked up the burner, and tapped speakerphone.
The voice that filled the opulent room was silk over venom.
""Clara, honey,"" Derek purred, background noise suggesting he was driving, the rhythmic slap of windshield wipers unmistakable. ""I came home with your favorite almond croissants. But the kitchen window is broken, and you're not in bed. You cut your hand on the glass, didn't you? Silly girl. You always make such messy choices when you try to be independent."" A soft, theatrical sigh followed. ""I know Bianca picked you up. I know where her little boutique is in River North. And I’m sure Nora wouldn't want her shift at Loyola interrupted tonight. Come home. Don't make me be the bad guy.""
The voicemail cut off with a sharp click.
The air vanished from my lungs. ""He knows. Matteo, he knows about Nora. He's heading to her campus right now—""
Before I could spiral into full panic, Matteo stood. He wasn't frantic; he moved with the lethal, measured calm of a predator that had just caught a familiar scent. He dialed a single digit on his personal phone.
""Lucian,"" Matteo said flatly. ""Target is heading toward Loyola's North campus. Silver Audi A6, plates ending in four-four-zero. If he steps within fifty yards of Dorm 4C, take his tires out. Do not kill him yet. Just remind him that the North Side does not belong to private equity scum.""
He hung up without waiting for an answer. Then he turned to me, his presence filling the high-ceilinged room. ""Your sister was moved twenty minutes ago, Clara. My men brought her to a safe house in Oak Park while you were explaining your story. She is eating takeout and studying pharmacology right now.""
My jaw dropped. The sheer disbelief collided with an overwhelming wave of relief so violent that my knees gave out as I tried to stand. Matteo caught me by the elbows before I struck the floor, his grip firm, warm, and shockingly gentle.
""You moved her?"" I choked out, tears finally spilling over. ""Without asking?""
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""I secured her,"" he corrected softly, holding my weight until my balance returned. ""Because you asked me to protect her. A decision is useless without execution. Derek Hale thinks he is playing chess against a terrified woman. He doesn't realize he just walked onto a battlefield.""
Looking up into his stone-carved face, I realized Derek’s worst mistake wasn't underestimating me. It was assuming I had nowhere else to run.
