Elena Marquez woke before dawn, drenched in sweat, the echo of gunfire ringing in her head. For a moment she didn't know where she was, her cramped apartment walls looked like prison bars in the dim light. Then she heard Mateo's soft breathing from the next room and the panic settled into a dull ache.
She hadn't dreamt about her husband's death in years. But now it was all coming back, blood on the pavement, sirens screaming, promises breaking. Maybe it was because she'd seen it again. Death. Violence. That same hollow look in a killer's eyes.
Only this time, he'd looked at her.
Dante Moretti.
The name rolled through her mind like a curse. She'd heard it before, whispered in back alleys and shouted in the news. A ghost who ran the city from the shadows, the man no one dared cross. The man who could make you disappear without leaving a trace.
And now that ghost knew her name.
Elena dragged herself to the kitchen, trying to shake the fog of exhaustion. The city outside was waking too, cars honking, sirens wailing, vendors shouting. Life in Bellagio Heights never stopped moving, even when you wished it would.
She poured herself coffee and stared at the card Dante had left her. Just a number. No logo, no name. Stark black ink on white paper. Simple, but somehow more terrifying than any threat.
She'd tried to throw it away last night, she really had but her hand wouldn't let go. Something about his voice, his certainty, had crawled under her skin. He hadn't needed to raise his voice to make her believe every word.
If anyone contacts you, call this number.
She didn't know whether it was a warning or a promise.
By noon, the day had already gone sideways.
The manager at the diner, a man who barely noticed her most days suddenly asked for her address, "for updated records." When she hesitated his smile faltered. Later she caught a man sitting alone in the corner booth, sipping black coffee without touching the food he'd ordered. He'd been there for two hours, and his eyes never left her.
And when she took out the trash after her shift there was a black SUV parked across the street. Tinted windows. Engine running.
Elena froze in the alley, the same one where it had all started. The scent of rain still clung to the asphalt and for a heartbeat she swore she could still see the blood.
Her palms went slick. She turned quickly, heading back inside trying to pretend she hadn't noticed.
When her shift ended she didn't go straight home. Instead she ducked into a crowded grocery store, winding through aisles, heart racing. Every sound made her flinch, the squeak of a cart wheel, the hum of fluorescent lights.
You're imagining things, she told herself. You're being paranoid.
When she reached for a carton of milk and glanced into the convex security mirror above her, she saw him.
The same man from the diner corner booth.
He was pretending to browse the canned goods but his reflection gave him away. He wasn't shopping. He was watching.
Her stomach dropped. She grabbed her phone and pulled out the card. Her fingers trembled as she dialed the number.
It rang once. Then, "Moretti."
The voice was unmistakable.
Her heart nearly stopped. "It's….It's me. Elena."
A beat of silence. Then, "Where are you?"
"Why are there people following me?" she hissed, ducking her head as she peeked down the aisle. "You said to call if anyone…."
"They're mine," Dante interrupted calmly. "Don't panic."
She froze. "Yours? You sent them?"
"They're there to make sure no one else gets to you first."
"What?!" Her voice rose before she caught herself. "You have people watching me? You can't just…."
"Elena," he said sharply, her name cutting through her panic like a blade. "Listen to me. The man who died in that alley wasn't random. His death was ordered. And whoever gave that order doesn't know what you saw yet. When they do they'll come for you. My men are the only reason you're still breathing."
The cold truth of his words hit her like a slap.
He continued, his tone softening, almost human. "I didn't send them to hurt you. I sent them to keep you alive."
She sank against the wall of the aisle, the world tilting. "Why?"
A pause. "Because you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. And I don't kill people for being unlucky."
Elena bit back the sob that threatened to rise. "I don't want your protection. I just want my life back."
"That's not possible," Dante said quietly. "Not yet."
Her hand trembled around the phone. "Then what do I do?"
"For now," he said, "you go home. Don't talk to anyone. Don't run. If something feels off call me again. I'll handle the rest."
Then the line went dead.
Elena didn't realize she'd been crying until she saw the tear stains on her sleeve.
She left the store, her pulse pounding and hurried to her car. The man who'd been tailing her was gone. But she didn't feel relief, just the weight of something invisible pressing closer.
By the time she reached her apartment the sun was setting behind Bellagio Heights. She locked every door, checked the windows twice and peeked through the blinds.
The same SUV sat parked down the street.
A shadow moved inside it. Watching. Waiting.
Mateo came running out of his room with a crayon drawing in hand, beaming. "Look, Mama! It's us!"
Elena forced a smile, taking the paper. Two stick figures under a bright yellow sun. One big, one small. Safe. Whole.
She knelt, hugging him tight and inhaling the scent of crayons and shampoo.
"Promise me something, baby," she whispered against his hair.
"What?"
"Promise me that no matter what happens you'll always listen to me. Okay?"
He nodded, confused but obedient.
"Good boy," she murmured, kissing his forehead.
When she looked up again, through the narrow slit of the blinds she saw the SUV door open and a tall figure stepped out.
Her breath caught. Even from a distance, she knew that silhouette. Broad shoulders. Calm, deliberate movements.
Dante Moretti.
He stood in the glow of a streetlamp, his gaze lifting to her window. Their eyes met through the glass.
He didn't look threatening. He didn't look cruel.
He looked like a man who had made a decision one that couldn't be undone.
Elena's pulse raced. She didn't move. Didn't breathe.
And then as quietly as he'd appeared, he turned and got back into the car. The engine hummed to life and the SUV rolled down the street, disappearing into the night. Something in her told her this wasn't over.
Dante Moretti wasn't watching her anymore.
He was claiming her.