Chapter 6 - The Shadow on the Wall
By three o'clock that afternoon, Hazel was sitting on the edge of her small twin bed in her cramped, third-floor apartment in downtown Elgin.
The small room smelled of old dust and cheap radiator steam. But for the first time in six months, the suffocating cloud of terror that had haunted her had completely vanished.
On her small laminate coffee table lay the official bank receipt confirming the wire transfer of sixty thousand dollars directly to Frankie Sullivan’s commercial loan account, alongside a legally binding document of debt cancellation stamped by a notary public.
She was free. The debt was gone.
And in her savings account sat forty thousand dollars—more money than Hazel had ever seen in her entire life.
She held her small hands up to her face. She could still feel the phantom sensation of Damian Romano’s touch—the intense heat of his chest, the rough calluses of his broad palm resting on her jaw, the dark, hypnotic intensity of his gray eyes looking down at her.
Why did he look at me like that? she wondered, her heart fluttering stupidly in her chest. He's a mafia boss. I'm just a maid.
Yet, the way he had held her in the dark—the desperate, protective way his arm had wrapped around her waist—felt real. It didn't feel like the actions of a cold, ruthless monster.
A sudden, sharp knock at her front door shattered her thoughts.
Hazel jumped, her heart leaping into her throat.
She crept slowly toward the wooden door, looking through the tiny glass peephole.
Standing in the dimly lit hallway outside were two tall men in dark leather jackets. One was heavy-set with a broken nose; the other was thin, slicking back his greasy hair.
Sullivan’s collectors.
Hazel unlocked the deadbolt, keeping the heavy iron security chain engaged, and opened the door two inches.
"Can I help you?" Hazel asked, trying to keep her voice steady. "I already wired the full sixty thousand dollars to Mr. Sullivan’s account two hours ago. I have the bank confirmation receipt right here."
The heavy-set man sneered, pushing his fat shoulder against the door, straining the security chain.
"We know about the wire, sweetheart," the fat man rasped, his breath smelling of stale cigars. "Frankie got the money. But there's a small problem."
Hazel’s blood ran cold. "What problem? The agreement was sixty thousand!"
The thin man stepped forward, a nasty, yellow-toothed grin spreading across his face. "Sixty thousand was the principal, little girl. Frankie decided there's a late fee for making him wait six months. Sixty thousand in interest. Cash."
"What?!" Hazel gasped, tears of outrage rising in her eyes. "That's absurd! That wasn't in the contract! You can't just invent a late fee!"
"Frankie can do whatever he wants," the fat man growled, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a heavy set of bolt cutters. "Now open this damn chain before we take it out of your hide."
Hazel panicked. She slammed the heavy wooden door shut, frantically throwing her weight against it to lock the deadbolt.
CRACK.
The fat man slammed his heavy shoulder against the door frame, splintering the wood around the lock.
"Open the door, bitch!" he roared from the hallway.
Hazel backed away, terror seizing her chest once more. She grabbed her purse from the counter, pulling out her phone with trembling hands.
Who could she call? The police? Sullivan owned half the local precinct.
Her fingers acted on pure, desperate instinct. She opened her contacts, scrolling down to the private number that Damian Romano’s driver had given her when he dropped her off that morning.
She hit dial.
It rang once.
"Speak," Damian’s deep, commanding voice answered instantly.
"Damian!" Hazel sobbed into the receiver, forgetting all formal titles. "They're here! Sullivan’s men are at my apartment! They said there's a late fee! They're breaking down my door!"
There was a half-second of absolute, terrifying silence on the line.
When Damian spoke again, his voice was no longer human. It was the icy, lethal roar of an ancient demon being unleashed.
"Stay in the bathroom, Hazel," Damian commanded, the heavy sound of a car engine roaring in the background on his end. "Lock the door. I am three minutes away."
BOOM.
The front door of her apartment splintered completely, hanging off its hinges as the two heavy men stepped into her living room.
Hazel dropped her phone, turned, and sprinted into her small bathroom, slamming the thin hollow-core door shut and sliding the flimsy brass lock into place.
May you like
"Found you, little mouse!" the fat man laughed from the living room, his heavy boots crunching over the broken door frame.
Hazel sank onto the cold tile floor, pulling her knees to her chest, weeping as the thin bathroom door began to shake under heavy, brutal kicks.
