Chapter 1 - The Midnight Summons
The air inside the bar smelled like stale beer, melted ice, and my own pure, suffocating terror.
""They asked for me?"" My voice squeaked, barely louder than a whisper. My fingers dug into the edge of the varnished wooden bar until my knuckles turned stark white. ""Nick, please tell me you're joking. Tell me this is another sick prank.""
Nick, our usually unflappable head bartender, didn't crack a smile. The color had completely abandoned his weathered face, leaving him looking sickly under the harsh neon lights of the liquor display. He set his phone down on the damp counter like it was an unexploded grenade.
""He said a black Maybach is idling in the alley behind the kitchen right now,"" Nick murmured, not looking me in the eyes. ""He said you have exactly three minutes to get inside, or his men will come in here and carry you out themselves. Mara, this isn't a joke. You don't make Adrian Moretti wait.""
Behind me, the silence was deafening. Just ten minutes ago, Chloe and Dave had been snickering, waving that crisp stack of five-hundred-dollar bills in my face, making snide remarks about my weight, daring me to embarrass myself for rent money. Now, Chloe looked like she was about to throw up on her sneakers, and Dave was frantically staring down at his phone, pretending he didn't exist.
""Here,"" Dave stammered, shoving the five hundred dollars across the wooden laminate toward my trembling hand. ""Take it, Mara. Just... just don't tell them we put you up to it. Please.""
I stared at the crumpled paper money. Five hours ago, that paper represented salvation—my brother Leo’s physical therapy co-pays, two weeks of groceries, and relief from our predatory landlord. Now, it felt like dirty blood money. I snatched the bills, shoved them deep into my apron pocket, and stripped the stained black apron over my head.
""If I'm not back by morning, call the police,"" I whispered to Nick.
Nick gave a grim, hopeless chuckle. ""Mara... in this city, the police work for the Moretti family. Praying might work better.""
My cheap work flats squeaked against the greasy tiles as I walked through the kitchen. The line cooks stopped what they were doing, watching me like I was walking the green mile. Every breath burned in my lungs. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.
When I pushed the heavy metal back door open, the crisp autumn wind hit my hot cheeks. Idling in the narrow brick alley was an enormous, sleek black sedan with tinted windows as dark as obsidian. The moment the hinges of the back door creaked, a man stepped out from the passenger side. He was built like a brick wall, wearing an immaculate charcoal suit with a subtle earpiece tucked into his ear.
He opened the rear door and gestured inward. No words. No smile. Just cold, lethal efficiency.
""I have a younger brother,"" I blurted out, my voice shaking so hard my teeth clicked. ""He’s seventeen. He was in a car accident last year and can barely walk without his brace. If you hurt me, he has nobody. Take whatever money I have, please, just let me go.""
The man’s expression didn't change at all. ""Mr. Moretti does not like to repeat himself, Miss Bellamy. Step inside.""
I looked down the dark alleyway. Running was impossible; I was out of shape, wearing slippery shoes, and he probably had a firearm tucked under his lapel. Swallowing the lump of bile in my throat, I ducked my head and slid onto the butter-soft leather seat. The door clicked shut with a heavy, airtight thud that sounded like a tomb closing.
The interior smelled of rich cedarwood, expensive leather, and smoky bourbon.
Beside me in the shadows, a deep, resonant voice broke the quiet. ""You tremble very easily for a woman who was brave enough to put her hands on me forty minutes ago.""
I turned my head slowly.
Adrian Moretti sat with his long legs crossed, his broad frame taking up half the cabin. In the dim amber glow of the car's interior lights, his sharp jawline, straight nose, and dark gray eyes looked carved from granite. His gaze drifted down my body—over my oversized button-down shirt, my wide hips, my trembling hands clasped tightly over my stomach.
There was no disgust in his gaze. Only an intense, calculating curiosity that made my entire skin prickle with heat.
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""I was desperate,"" I whispered, unable to look away from his piercing eyes. ""And stupid.""
Adrian tilted his head slightly, a razor-thin smirk touching the corner of his lips. ""Desperation makes people honest, Miss Bellamy. And honesty is a very rare commodity in my world. Driver, take us to the estate.""
