Chapter 3 - Shadows on the West Side
Maya backed away from the door, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. The voice outside was unmistakable—smooth, condescending, and soaked in the lingering menace that had haunted her nightmares for two years.
“I know you’re in there, Maya,” Aaron Pike said, his tone turning colder as the knob jiggled violently. “Don’t play stupid. I’ve been keeping tabs on you. Imagine my surprise when I saw my sweet, pathetic ex-wife walking out of the DeLuca iron gates in a maid’s apron.”
Maya pressed her back against the kitchen counter, her hand instinctively wrapping around the handle of an iron skillet. “Go away, Aaron! I called the police! They’re already looking for you!”
A low, mocking laugh drifted through the wood. “The police? For what? Civil debt? You signed those loan notes yourself, darling. Legally, you owe every single penny. But we both know you’re sitting on something much bigger now. The DeLucas are worth billions. Roman DeLuca practically prints money.”
“I’m just a cleaner!” Maya yelled, trying to mask the tremor in her voice. “I don't have anything!”
“You will,” Aaron replied, tapping his knuckles against the wood. “A girl with inside access to that mansion is worth a fortune to the right people. The Moretti family would pay a million dollars just for the security codes to Roman’s private wing. You get me those codes, Maya, and your forty-thousand-dollar debt disappears. Better yet, I’ll give you a cut and let you walk away forever.”
The Morettis. Roman DeLuca’s deadliest rivals in the Chicago syndicate. Aaron hadn’t just returned to extort her; he was working with the enemies of the most dangerous man in the state.
“Never!” Maya cried out. “Get away from my door, or I swear I’ll scream!”
“You have forty-eight hours to think about it,” Aaron’s voice hardened into pure venom. “If you don’t hand over the security schematics by Friday night, I’ll tell Roman DeLuca that his sweet little companion was planted in his sister’s room by the Morettis. Who do you think he’ll believe? The South Side Don who murders people on suspicion alone, or a destitute maid with forged documents?”
Footsteps retreated down the stairwell, fading into the gritty roar of the city street below.
Maya sank to the floor, her breath hitching in dry, ragged gasps. Aaron was ruthless enough to do it. Roman DeLuca had executed trusted captains for the slightest hint of betrayal. If Roman even suspected Maya was tied to the Morettis, he wouldn’t just fire her—she would end up in a concrete foundation.
Desperation drove her hands. She shoved the remaining clothes into her duffel bag, grabbed the shoebox filled with anonymous cash, and slipped out the back fire escape into the pouring rain.
She didn’t take the bus. Terrified that Aaron might be watching the transit lines, she hailed a yellow cab with the last few wrinkled dollars in her coat pocket.
“Take me to the DeLuca estate on the South Side,” she told the driver, shivering violently against the cracked vinyl seat.
When the cab pulled up to the imposing iron gates at ten at night, the security spotlights instantly flooded the vehicle with blinding white luminescence. Two heavily armed guards stepped out of the gatehouse, assault rifles raised.
The driver panicked, locking the doors. “Lady, who the hell are you?”
Maya rolled down her window, rain soaking her face. “Tell Mr. DeLuca that Maya Turner is here. Please.”
Within sixty seconds, the massive wrought-iron gates swung open.
The cab drove up the winding driveway, stopping before the grand stone portico. Standing beneath the exterior chandelier, dressed in black slacks and an unbuttoned silk shirt, was Roman DeLuca himself.
Maya paid the driver and stepped out into the deluge, clutching her duffel bag. Her split sneaker splashed into a puddle, and her bad knee buckled instantly under the shock of cold water.
She braced for the agonizing fall onto the wet gravel, but the impact never came.
May you like
Strong, unyielding arms caught her before she hit the ground. Roman pulled her against his chest, shielding her from the rain with his broad shoulders. His eyes swept over her soaked hair, her trembling frame, and the raw terror written across her pale features.
“You’re eight hours early,” Roman murmured, his voice rumbling against her ear as he effortlessly lifted her into his arms. “Who chased you, Maya?”
