Chapter 2 - The Name Everyone Feared
The photograph loaded slowly.
Sheree stopped breathing.
The man on her screen was wearing a black tuxedo instead of a blood-soaked shirt, but there was no mistaking the hard jaw, dark hair, or expression that looked as though smiling required written authorization.
GABRIEL MORETTI SURVIVES ATTEMPTED ASSASSINATION
Sheree read the headline twice.
Then a third time.
Gabriel Moretti.
Thirty-four years old.
CEO of Moretti International Shipping.
Philanthropist.
Real-estate investor.
And, according to nearly every article beneath the polished public biography, the alleged head of Chicago’s most powerful organized-crime family.
“Fantastic.”
Sheree lowered the phone.
“I stitched up the mafia.”
The black SUV was still outside.
She looked at the $10,000.
Then at the overdue electric bill beneath it.
For approximately three seconds, poverty and common sense fought an ugly battle.
Common sense won.
Barely.
Sheree shoved the money into a grocery bag, put on her coat, and went downstairs.
The SUV’s rear door opened before she reached it.
A broad-shouldered man in a charcoal suit stepped out.
“Ms. Carter.”
Sheree froze.
She had never given Gabriel her last name.
“You have five seconds to explain how you know who I am.”
The man looked almost amused.
“Mr. Moretti would like you to keep the money.”
“I’d like Mr. Moretti to stop having strangers sit outside my apartment.”
“We’re protecting you.”
“From what?”
His expression changed.
“From the people who put him behind your dumpster.”
That answer destroyed several of Sheree’s prepared insults.
She handed him the grocery bag.
“Give this back.”
He did not take it.
“Mr. Moretti said you would refuse.”
“Then Mr. Moretti is smarter than he looked while unconscious.”
“He also said you’d say something insulting.”
Sheree stared.
The man finally smiled.
“My name is Anthony Russo. I handle security.”
“Congratulations.”
“Please keep the money.”
“No.”
“Then consider it compensation.”
“For what?”
Anthony’s gaze moved toward the alley.
“For what comes next.”
Sheree’s stomach tightened.
Before she could ask, tires screeched at the intersection.
Anthony moved instantly.
He grabbed Sheree and pulled her behind the SUV.
A sedan accelerated past them.
The rear window lowered.
Sheree heard three violent cracks.
Glass exploded.
Anthony shoved her down as bullets struck the SUV’s reinforced side.
Then the sedan disappeared.
Silence returned.
Sheree stared at shattered glass glittering across the snow.
Anthony touched his earpiece.
“We’re compromised.”
Her hands started shaking.
Not from cold.
Anthony opened the SUV door.
“Get in.”
“I have work.”
“You almost got shot.”
“I noticed.”
“Ms. Carter—”
“Sheree.”
“Sheree, whoever attacked Mr. Moretti knows someone helped him.”
She looked toward her apartment.
The faded curtains in Mrs. Alvarez’s second-floor window moved.
Children lived in the building.
Old people.
Families who had nothing to do with Gabriel Moretti.
“Take me somewhere else.”
Anthony nodded.
The SUV pulled away.
Sheree sat rigidly in the back seat.
“You said you were protecting me. Where is he?”
Anthony hesitated.
“Recovering.”
“Where?”
“You’ll see.”
Twenty minutes later, Chicago changed outside the windows.
Pawnshops became boutiques. Broken sidewalks became immaculate streets. The SUV entered a private underground garage beneath a luxury high-rise overlooking Lake Michigan.
Sheree stepped into an elevator.
The doors opened directly into a penthouse.
Gabriel Moretti stood beside the windows.
He was shirtless.
Sheree’s stitches were visible beneath fresh gauze.
He turned.
For several seconds neither spoke.
He looked much larger when he was upright.
“Your stitches are terrible,” Gabriel said.
Sheree blinked.
“You’re welcome.”
One corner of his mouth moved.
Anthony left.
Sheree pointed toward the windows.
“Someone just shot at me.”
The humor vanished from Gabriel’s face.
“I know.”
“And you’re standing there like I complained about parking.”
Gabriel crossed the room.
“Because if I react emotionally, people die.”
“That might be the creepiest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
“It wasn’t meant to comfort you.”
“Good. You failed.”
He stopped a few feet away.
“I told you not to help me.”
“And apparently I should’ve listened.”
“Yes.”
The blunt answer hurt more than she expected.
Gabriel noticed.
Something softened briefly in his expression.
Then he said, “But you did help me.”
“So?”
“So now there are men who believe you saw something.”
“I saw an idiot bleeding beside a dumpster.”
“They don’t know that.”
Sheree folded her arms.
“What happens now?”
“You stay here.”
She laughed.
Gabriel didn’t.
“No.”
“Until I find whoever attacked me.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Your apartment is compromised.”
“I have a job.”
“I spoke to St. Jude’s.”
Sheree stared.
“You did what?”
“You’re on paid medical leave.”
“You called my employer?”
“I bought the hospital.”
Silence.
Sheree searched his face for a joke.
There wasn’t one.
“You bought my hospital?”
“Technically, my foundation acquired the controlling debt six months ago.”
“That is somehow worse.”
Gabriel almost smiled again.
Then Anthony appeared in the doorway.
This time he looked grim.
“Boss.”
Gabriel turned.
Anthony held out a clear evidence bag.
Inside was a photograph.
Sheree’s photograph.
Taken outside St. Jude’s.
A red X had been drawn across her face.
On the back were four handwritten words.
THE NURSE DIES NEXT.
Gabriel’s entire expression changed.
Sheree had seen frightened men.
Angry men.
Violent men.
But she had never seen someone become completely emotionless.
Gabriel took the photograph.
“Who delivered it?”
“One of our drivers.”
“Where is he?”
“Dead.”
Sheree swallowed.
Gabriel looked at her.
The man she had rescued from the snow was gone.
What remained was the man newspapers whispered about.
“No one leaves this floor,” he said.
May you like
Then his eyes settled on Sheree.
“And from this moment forward, nobody gets near her without going through me.”
