Ellie's POV
The headlights in the rearview mirror swelled, becoming twin suns of angry white light flooding the SUV's interior. Ellie's breath hitched.
"Lose them, Marco," Nicholas said, his voice devoid of all emotion.
The SUV's engine roared with a sudden, vicious power. Ellie was thrown back into the soft leather as Marco, the driver, slammed the accelerator. The force pressed her into the seat. They shot through an intersection just as the light turned from yellow to red. Tires screamed somewhere behind them.
The pursuing car didn't stop. It blasted through the red light, a dark shape of pure intent. It was smaller, lighter, and it gained on them with terrifying ease.
"They're gonna ram us!" Ellie yelled, the words torn from her.
Marco didn't answer. His hands were locked on the wheel, his jaw a hard line. The car behind swerved and smashed into their rear bumper with a jarring, metallic CRUNCH. The SUV lurched. Ellie's seatbelt locked, digging into her shoulder.
"Take the next left. Go through the market," Nicholas commanded, still eerily calm.
"The market's closed. It's barricaded," Marco replied, his voice tight.
"Now."
Marco yanked the wheel. The SUV skidded, tires shrieking in protest, and plunged down a narrow service street. The car behind followed, its headlights painting the alley walls in stark, racing stripes.
The street was a claustrophobic canyon of dumpsters and parked delivery vans. There was no room to pass, no room to escape.
"They're going to pin us!" Ellie gasped, her knuckles white where she gripped the seat.
Just as the car behind surged for another hit, Marco did the unimaginable. He slammed the brakes and cranked the wheel hard right, all in one violent motion.
The world spun. Ellie was thrown against the door, then slammed into the stone-faced guard beside her. The SUV spun in a sickening, screeching 180-degree turn, shuddering to a stop facing the way they'd come. The pursuing car, committed to its speed, shot past them in a blur of noise and light, its brake lights flaring red too late.
Before the enemy car could reverse, Marco slammed the gearshift and stamped on the gas again, roaring back down the alley. He took a sharp left, then a right, then another left, driving with a furious, predatory instinct. After two minutes of silent, gut-churning turns, he slowed. He guided the SUV into the loading dock of a massive, dark department store, killed the engine and the lights.
Darkness. Silence, except for the frantic drumming of Ellie's heart and her ragged breaths. She listened, straining. No sirens. No screeching tires. Just the distant, steady hum of the city.
A full minute passed. Nicholas spoke one word.
"Clear."
Marco started the engine and pulled back onto the street, now driving like a slightly impatient businessman late for a meeting.
The rest of the drive was a silent, tense blur. Nicholas made two more phone calls in Italian, his voice a low, continuous rumble. Ellie stared out the window, watching a normal world go by. A woman walking a dog. A couple laughing, sharing headphones. A food cart vendor steaming in the cold. A life she had been ripped from.
The SUV eventually slid into a private, underground garage beneath a soaring glass tower. The gate closed silently behind them. The elevator was mirrored and cold. It opened not into a hallway, but directly into a living room.
Ellie's mouth fell open. The room was a monument to money and emptiness. A wall of windows showed a breathtaking, dizzying view of the glittering city below. Everything was shades of gray, white, and sleek, polished steel. It was huge, silent, and colder than the winter alley. It looked like a museum exhibit titled "Luxury Prison."
"This is where you'll stay," Nicholas said. He walked to a minimalist kitchen, poured a glass of water from a fancy tap, and drank it in one go, his back to her.
Marco stood by the elevator, a silent, watchful monument. A jailer in a suit.
Ellie found her voice, small and shaky in the vast space. "For how long?"
"Until it's safe."
"And when will that be?"
He put the glass down on the marble counter. The click it made was terribly final. "When I say it is."
He didn't look at her. He just walked down a hallway and disappeared through a doorway, closing the door behind him without a sound.
Marco gestured with his head. "Your room is this way, Miss Wells."
He led her to a doorway. The room inside was larger than her entire apartment. A vast bed with linens that looked like clouds. A bathroom with a shower that had a dozen nozzles. A walk-in closet empty except for a single, fluffy white robe hanging like a ghost. It was a cage, but the bars were marble and money.
Marco pointed to a small, lit panel by the door. It had a single, black button. "This is for security. It connects directly to my room next door and Mr. Pellagrini's down the hall. Press it only if there is an immediate, physical threat." His eyes were flat, unreadable stones. "Do not try to leave. The doors and windows are secured."
"Secured how?" Ellie asked, a spark of defiance flickering.
"Secured," he repeated, the word a full stop. He left, pulling the door shut behind him.
Ellie stood in the middle of the silent, perfect room. Then she heard it. The heavy, metallic thunk of the lock engaging from the outside.
She was a prisoner in a five-star jail.
For a long time, she just stood there, trembling. The adrenaline was gone, leaving a hollow, cold ache. She walked to the window. The view was incredible. She could see the entire island, a map of light. She placed her palms on the cold, thick glass. There was no latch. No seam to suggest it could open. It was just a giant, beautiful TV screen showing a world she could no longer touch.
Hours later, a dry thirst drove her out. She crept into the dark living room, guided by the city's glow. The kitchen was a chef's fantasy, a stove with more burners than she'd ever need, a fridge the size of her old bathroom. She found a glass and filled it with water.
As she drank, she heard voices. Muffled, coming from behind a partially closed door down another hallway. An office.
One voice was Nicholas's, low and firm. The other was a woman's, smooth and cold as polished ice.
A stupid, dangerous curiosity pulled her forward. She moved silently, barefoot on the cool floor, stopping just out of sight around the corner.
"…a complication, Nico," the woman was saying. Her voice was logical, precise. "A loose end that is currently breathing your air and touching your things."
"She's not a loose end, Sophia. She saved my life."
"And now she's a liability." The woman, Sophia, didn't raise her voice. It made her words cut deeper. "She's a waitress. She has no training, no constitution, no loyalties beyond her own survival. The Costas will find her. And when they do, she will fold. She'll tell them everything she saw, everything about you, to make the pain stop. She's a crack in your armor. A crack waiting to split wide open."
Ellie's blood turned to slush in her veins. A liability. A crack.
"I'm handling it," Nicholas said, a clear warning edging his tone.
Sophia laughed softly. It was a sound without any warmth or humor. "Your sentiment is a weakness. That girl is a problem. And in our business, Nico, problems need to be… removed."
Ellie stumbled back from the door, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle a gasp. Removed. The word echoed in her skull. She wasn't safe here. The greatest threat wasn't just outside these walls. It was inside them, speaking in a calm, cold voice in the room next door. She turned and fled back to her bedroom, locking herself in the bathroom as if the flimsy interior lock could save her. She slid to the floor, shivering. In the morning, a soft knock sounded on her bedroom door. A maid she hadn't seen before, dressed in a crisp uniform, offered a polite, empty smile. In her hands, she held a small, beautiful robin's-egg blue box, tied with a perfect silver ribbon. "For you, miss," the maid said, extending it.