Chapter 6 - The Ghost
Ricardo caught me instantly.
Before my knees could hit the polished marble floor, his powerful arm wrapped around my waist, hoisting my weight effortlessly against his chest.
"Maya," Ricardo whispered harshly, his voice sharp with sudden concern as he looked down at my pale, terrified face. "What is it? What's wrong?"
I couldn't speak. My mouth felt completely dry, my chest tightening until I couldn't draw a single breath of air into my lungs.
Three years ago. Philadelphia.
The rainy night I had stayed late at the university medical clinic to finish my shift. The dark alley behind the building where I had stepped out to take out the trash. The sight of two men pinning a helpless clinic doctor against a brick wall. The sharp, sickening sound of a silenced gunshot echoing through the alley.
And the man who had turned around, stepping into the streetlamp light, holding a smoking gun, looking directly into my terrified eyes before I turned and ran for my life.
The man with the black viper coiled around a broken hourglass tattooed on his right wrist.
He was standing thirty feet away from me in the middle of the Plaza Hotel ballroom, holding a glass of scotch.
"Maya! Look at me!" Ricardo demanded, his hand gripping my chin, forcing my eyes away from the bar and up to his amber gaze. His face was a mask of intense concentration, his eyes scanning my face for any sign of a physical attack. "Are you sick? Did someone touch you?"
"I... I need air," I gasped out, my voice raspy and barely audible. "Please, Ricardo. I need air."
Viktor Romanov watched us with a cruel, amused smirk, taking a slow sip of his champagne. "It seems your delicate flower isn't used to the atmosphere in our world, Ricardo. Perhaps you should take her home before she faints on your polished shoes."
Ricardo gave Viktor a look of pure, unadulterated hatred that could have withered steel. "If you ever breathe near my fiancée again, Viktor, I will carve your tongue out of your throat."
Without waiting for a response, Ricardo scooped me up into his arms, carrying me effortlessly through the whispering crowd of guests, past the heavy mahogany doors, and out into the cool, quiet private corridor leading to the VIP holding suites.
He kicked open the door to a private, dimly lit parlor, carried me inside, and set me down gently on a soft leather sofa. He immediately dropped to one knee in front of me, his large hands resting firmly on my knees, anchoring me to the room.
"Talk to me, Maya," he ordered, his voice low, rough, and demanding. "Now. What happened out there? You looked like you saw a dead man walk through the door."
I buried my face in my shaking hands, my body trembling so violently my teeth were chattering. "I did," I sobbed out, tears finally breaking through my eyelashes. "I did see a dead man."
Ricardo’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing into sharp slits. He reached up, pulling my hands away from my face, forcing me to look at him.
"Who?" he demanded flatly. "Name him."
"I don't know his name," I choked out, a ragged sob tearing from my throat. "Three years ago... in Philadelphia... I wasn't just hiding from bad debts or an old life, Ricardo. I witness a murder."
Ricardo didn't blink. He didn't interrupt. He simply knelt there, his hands holding mine in an iron grip, listening to every word.
"I was a nursing student working a late shift at a community clinic," I whispered, the terrifying memories flooding back like a tidal wave. "I saw a man execute one of our doctors in the alley behind the building. I ran. I packed my bags, I changed my name, I moved to New York, and I lived like a phantom because I knew if he ever found me, he would kill me."
"And he was in that room tonight?" Ricardo asked, his voice dropping into a tone so cold it chilled the blood in my veins.
"Yes," I gasped, looking into his eyes with pure terror. "The man standing near the bar... the one Viktor Romanov was talking to... he had a tattoo on his wrist. A viper wrapped around an hourglass."
The moment those words left my mouth, Ricardo went completely still.
The color drained slightly from his face, replaced by an expression of pure, unbridled fury that was far more terrifying than anything I had ever seen from him.
"A viper around an hourglass," Ricardo repeated, his voice barely a whisper, yet vibrating with lethal intent.
"You know him?" I stammered.
"That tattoo belongs to Julian Vance," Ricardo revealed, his knuckles turning white as his hands squeezed mine. "He is the head of enforcement for the Philadelphia syndicate. And six months ago, he aligned his family with Viktor Romanov."
I gasped, covering my mouth as the terrifying realization slammed into me like a freight train.
"He saw me, Ricardo," I wept, grabbing the lapels of his tuxedo jacket in pure desperation. "He looked right at me while I was standing next to you. He recognized me. I saw it in his eyes."
May you like
Ricardo stood up slowly, reaching into his shoulder holster to check the steel automatic pistol tucked beneath his jacket. He turned back to look down at me, his amber eyes burning with a terrifying, absolute fire.
"He might have recognized you, Maya," Ricardo said, his voice ringing out like a death sentence. "But he doesn't realize who you belong to now."
