22
The clock struck 11:45 PM when everything outside my penthouse cracked open into chaos.
It started quietly, like the usual late-night hum of Manhattan—car horns blaring in the distance, streetlights flickering like dying stars, and the faint rustle of life just beyond my soundproof windows. The kind of noise that had become part of my backdrop, blending in with the warmth of my bourbon and the comfort of my apartment.
And then, the glass shattered.
A sharp crack that sliced through the noise like a knife, making my skin prickle.
Someone was inside.
I wasn’t expecting anyone. Hell, I hadn’t even heard the elevator move. My heart jolted, then hammered a little faster, as I sat frozen with my tumbler in hand, the remnants of bourbon burning its way down my throat. In this life, the one I’d inherited from my father, the Mafia lord who had raised me as his only daughter, being alert was second nature. The moment I heard the sound, I knew this was no accident.
The glass shattered again—closer this time. The footsteps followed, deliberate, heavy. There was no attempt to be stealthy. Whoever this was, they weren’t here to sneak around. They were here to take something, or worse—someone.
I didn’t move right away. My pulse had already skipped a beat, and a knot twisted itself into my stomach, a cold warning creeping up my spine. I glanced toward the security monitor on the wall, expecting to see the flashing red lights of my system going off, expecting the all-too-familiar faces of my security team to pop up on screen.
But nothing.
The damn system was dead.
I looked again—checked the alarm. It was disabled. My heart sank. That wasn’t just careless; it was deliberate. Whoever had done this knew my security, knew my habits, knew me. The building was high-tech, top of the line—but tonight, I was utterly exposed.
I set the tumbler down with a soft clink. The sound was too loud in the silence, and it made my chest tighten even more. My legs felt like lead as I slowly rose from the desk chair, a steadying breath escaping my lips. I reached for the bottom drawer, fingers brushing against the cold steel of my father’s revolver. It was a piece I’d kept around, like he’d always insisted, “Just in case.”
*Just in case*—I thought now, wryly.
As I lifted the gun, my hands shook, but I steadied myself. There was no choice now. I wasn’t waiting for this intruder to make his move. I was going to make mine first.
I cocked the gun.
And then, silence.
The intruder stopped moving.
I could see his shadow through the frosted glass door, his tall frame blocking the slivers of light from outside. He had heard me. He knew I was armed.
But still, no movement.
Then—*click*.
The door creaked open, the sound unnerving in the stillness. My grip tightened around the gun as I took a step back, my finger hovering just over the trigger.
When he stepped inside, I saw him clearly for the first time.
My heart dropped, my breath caught in my throat. I couldn’t move.
It wasn’t just a stranger in my apartment. It was *him*.
“Who the hell are you?” I demanded, my voice thick with disbelief, the gun aimed right at him.
His eyes met mine—green, familiar, cold. My blood ran cold.
“Dominic?” The name slipped out before I could stop it. The word tasted bitter on my tongue, a name I hadn’t heard in years. *He couldn’t be here. Not now. Not after everything.*
A smile tugged at his lips, but it wasn’t a smile that felt good. No, it was twisted, filled with something darker than the shadows around us. “Hello, Eleanor,” he said, his voice low, almost mocking.
*Eleanor*. No one called me that anymore. The name felt wrong in his mouth. It had been years—years since I’d heard it, years since I’d seen him.
“You’re supposed to be dead,” I whispered. My voice cracked, and the words felt like a curse.
Dominic’s expression didn’t change, but I saw something flicker in his eyes. A glint of something dangerous, something that reminded me of the man I had once known—before everything fell apart.
His voice dropped, thick with menace. “Funny thing about death, Eleanor. It’s not as permanent as people think.”
I wasn’t sure I even understood what he meant, but it didn’t matter. He was standing there, in front of me, and the air between us was suffocating. My breath felt shallow, and the pounding in my chest felt deafening. Everything in me screamed to run, to scream for help, but I couldn’t move. My fingers were still gripping the gun, trembling, but ready.
“What do you want?” I managed, my voice barely a whisper. The gun felt heavier now, almost useless.
Dominic took a step closer, and I instinctively backed up, but he didn’t stop. His eyes never left mine, his gaze dark and unyielding. “Want? Oh, Eleanor, I don’t want anything,” he said, his voice slow, deliberate, like he was savoring each word. “I’m here to remind you of a debt you’ve tried so hard to forget.”
I didn’t have to ask what he meant. I *knew*.
I raised the gun again, but my hands were shaking so violently I could barely aim. But I had no choice. I wasn’t letting him get any closer. Not without a fight.
Before I could even pull the trigger, he moved—fast. Too fast.
One moment, there was a foot of space between us. The next, he was standing in front of me, towering over me.
I didn’t even have time to react. His hand shot out, closing around the barrel of my gun like it was nothing, yanking it from my hands with terrifying ease. I couldn’t even think.
The next thing I knew, I felt the back of his hand strike my head—hard. The blow was quick, brutal, and calculated. Stars exploded behind my eyes, and everything went black.
I didn’t even have the time to scream.
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