Chapter 4 - The Shadow at Home
At 5:30 that afternoon, Claire walked up the concrete steps of her apartment building on West Huron Street.
Every step hurt. The emotional shock of seeing Mateo, combined with the physical exhaustion of her morning shift, made her feel as if her body were made of glass.
Mateo had offered to send his men with her. He had offered to take her to a private estate in Lake Forest.
She had refused.
She knew Gavin. If she vanished without her belongings, if he suspected another man was involved, Gavin would track down Mia, he would go to Bellini’s, he would make everyone else pay for her escape. She needed to pack her documents—her passport, her cash savings hidden under the floorboards—and leave quietly while Gavin was at his evening poker game.
She unlocked the front door of Apartment 3B, sliding the key into the tumbler as quietly as possible.
The apartment was dark.
The smell of stale beer and burnt bacon hung heavy in the air.
Claire took two steps into the entryway, her hand reaching for the light switch.
“You’re late,” a voice growled from the shadows.
Claire gasped, her heart jumping into her throat.
Gavin was sitting on the worn leather sofa in the living room. The TV was off. On the coffee table in front of him sat three empty beer bottles and a pizza box.
He stood up slowly. Gavin was thirty-two, tall, with thinning brown hair and a heavy jawline that had grown soft from drinking. He wore a stained grey undershirt and jeans.
“Shift ended at four,” Gavin said, walking toward her with heavy, deliberate steps. “It takes twenty minutes to take the bus from downtown. Where were you?”
Claire instinctively backed up against the front door, her hands behind her back. “Angelo asked me to stay late to clean the pantry, Gavin. I earned an extra thirty dollars in cash.”
Gavin stopped three feet away. His eyes were bloodshot, his breath sour with alcohol.
He reached out and grabbed her wrist, twisting it slightly until she winced.
“You’re lying,” Gavin spat. “I called Bellini’s at four-thirty. Some guy answered and said the place was closed for a private event. Who were you with, Claire?”
“Nobody!” Claire cried out, trying to pull her hand back. “Gavin, stop! My wrist!”
“I give you a roof over your head!” Gavin shouted, stepping closer, his heavy frame crowding her into the corner. “I put food on the table! And you lie to my face? After everything I do for you?”
He raised his free hand—the heavy, blunt fist that had broken her lip twelve hours ago.
Claire closed her eyes, bracing her body for the blow.
Smash.
The heavy wooden door behind Claire didn't open.
It shattered.
The lock mechanism tore through the doorframe with a sound like a gunshot, wood splinters raining down onto the entryway rug.
Before Gavin could even turn his head, two massive men in dark suits burst into the hallway.
Gianna reached out, grabbed Gavin by the throat with one gloved hand, and slammed him backward onto the coffee table. The glass shattered into a thousand pieces, beer bottles rolling across the floor as Gavin let out a choked, terrified scream.
Claire stumbled back against the wall, her hands over her mouth, wide-eyed with shock.
Standing in the ruined doorway, framing the dim hallway light like an invading king, was Mateo Rossi.
He wore a long black cashmere overcoat over his charcoal suit. He held a silver-headed walking cane in his right hand, his face completely devoid of mercy, rage, or fear.
It was the face of execution.
Mateo stepped over the broken doorframe, his expensive leather shoes crunching over the glass shards on the carpet.
He didn't look at Gavin, who was currently pinned to the floor under Gianna’s three-hundred-pound frame.
Mateo walked directly to Claire.
May you like
He reached out, took her hand, and pulled her gently away from the corner into the center of the room.
“I told Gianna to follow you,” Mateo said smoothly, his voice completely untroubled by the violence. “I knew you wouldn't listen to me.”
