I enter my apartment building, a modest three-floor walk-up. Under normal circumstances, I’d appreciate the charm and the neighbors who mostly mind their own business, but my mind’s still spinning from the limo conversation with Dante.
Lost in thought, I’m halfway up the last flight of stairs when something feels off. The hair on the back of my neck stands up, a silent warning. My heart kicks up a notch, but I keep going—cautious but determined to get inside and lock the door behind me.
When I reach my apartment, my pulse spikes. The lock has been broken. There’s jagged metal around the keyhole, like it’s been pried open.
My stomach twists in dread.
I know better than to go inside, but my feet carry me forward anyway. Slowly, I nudge the door open with my shoulder, bracing myself for whatever I’m about see. I’m expecting the place to be trashed, ransacked beyond recognition.
But to my surprise, everything is exactly how I left it, right down to the half-read true crime novel on the coffee table. No furniture overturned, no broken glass. Nothing has been disturbed.
It’s unsettling.
I tip-toe further in, looking around nervously with every inch.
“Hello?
The kitchen counters gleam under the dull overhead light. Something catches my eye—a single, folded piece of paper on the counter.
Next to it lies a bullet.
My heart hammering, I approach the note, forcing my shaking hand to reach out and grab it. The bullet itself is small, but it might as well be a grenade. I swallow hard as I read the typed words:
You’ll never be safe.
Ice shoots through my veins and I drop it. I need to check the rest of my apartment, so I slowly creep down the short hallway to my room.
My bed is untouched except for the knife buried in one of my pillows, the handle sticking out like some twisted decoration. The knife was jammed through so forcefully it’s pinned to the mattress. Another bullet sits on the nightstand like an exclamation point finalizing the message.
My limbs shake as I fumble through my purse for my phone. I frantically scroll through, managing to hit the call button for Dante. He picks up on the second ring.
“Eva? You okay?”
I try to steady myself. “N–no. S–someone broke into my apartment.”
I hear him mutter a curse under his breath. “Talk to me. Are they still there?”
“I don’t think so,” I whisper, my eyes scanning the room. “The place is spotless. But there’s a note. And a bullet.”
“A bullet?” His voice goes cold, lethal. “You need to get out of there. Right now.”
“Yeah, I know.” I swallow hard. “They stuck a knife in my pillow, too.”
Dante’s tone darkens. “Goddamn it. Grab essential stuff, but don’t waste time. Anything you need, we can get for you. You have to leave, get somewhere public.”
My knees threaten to buckle. “Okay,” I manage. “Where are you?”
“Just crossed into the city, but we’re turning around right now.”
A beat of silence.
“Stay on the line with me?” I hate how needy I sound.
“Of course,” he replies.
It feels like a fever dream as I toss clothes, bathroom essentials, my laptop, phone charger, and some personal documents into a duffel. My hands are shaking so bad I drop things twice.
“OK, leaving now.”
Finally, I race out the door, duffel slung over my shoulder. I turn to lock up out of habit on the way out before remembering that the damn thing is broken. I run down the stairs and head outside.
“Where are you now?” Dante asks.
“Outside my building,” I tell him, scanning the dark street. “I’ll head to the little coffee shop on the corner. It’s open late.”
“Good. Stay there. I’m close.” He hesitates, then adds, “Stay in public view.”
“Got it.”
I hurry down the two blocks, heart pounding the entire way. I duck inside, the barista eyeing me suspiciously as I throw my duffel onto a table and sink into the chair, phone clutched to my chest.
“Dante?” I say, ignoring the odd looks from the few patrons around me.
“Two minutes away,” he says. His calm, controlled tone is all that’s keeping me from completely falling apart.
I bury my face against the bag, trying to focus on my breathing. I repeat the words I’m safe over and over in my head but my mind still races with questions:
How did they find me? Will they come back? Am I on borrowed time?
Time feels warped, but soon headlights wash over the café’s windows. I look up and see Dante stepping out of his limo, scanning the street before stepping inside.
The second I see him, I lose whatever composure I had left. He crosses the tiny space in two strides. When he kneels next to me, I practically collapse against him.
“They left me a bullet,” I choke out, repeating the words, the tears finally spilling over. “Two, actually.”
“Shh,” he says as he helps me stand, guiding me toward the door. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.” He gestures for his driver to grab my bag, holding me tight against his side as we head to the car. “We’re getting out of here.”
He opens the door and we slip inside. The driver places my bag in the trunk then quickly pulls away. I sob quietly against Dante’s shoulder; the fear, the shock, and the overwhelming sense of helplessness crashing down.
He wraps his arms around me, one hand stroking my hair. “You’re okay,” he whispers. “I promise.”
After a moment, I pull back, wiping my eyes. “I’m sorry. I can’t believe this is happening.”
His jaw clenches. “They’re just trying to scare you. It could’ve been the Lombardi’s, could’ve been someone from your past, or maybe someone else who hates me. Either way, you’re not going back to your apartment.”
When we pull up to his high-rise, everything appears deceptively normal. The doorman greets us with a polite nod as we head straight to the private elevator and up to the penthouse floor, his hand tightly holding mine the whole way.
He opens the door with his keycard and we step into the quiet of the penthouse, Dante turning on lights as he goes. It seems all is well until we enter the kitchen and Dante stops cold.
“What the hell?” he mutters.
My eyes follow his gaze.
On the kitchen counter sits a bullet. Next to it, a folded piece of paper.
I feel the blood drain from my face.
Dante strides over, snatching up the paper. I watch his jaw work as he reads the single word aloud:
Gotcha.
I wrap my arms around myself in an attempt to ease the chill running through my body. “How did they get in? You said your apartment had top-of-the-line security.”
“It does.” He crumples the note in his fist. “Which means they either bypassed it or someone let them in.”
My heart kicks against my ribs. “What now?”
He turns to me, his eyes dark. “We’re not staying here tonight. We’re going to my mother’s estate.”
“Your mother’s?”
He nods. “More guards, more layers of security. Eyes everywhere. No one’s getting in without an army.”
I fight back another round of tears. “I’m pregnant, Dante. I can’t keep running.”
He takes my hand and squeezes it gently. “You won’t have to,” he assures me. “Whoever’s behind this, we’re going to find them and deal with them. You and our baby will be protected. I swear to you on my life.”
Despite the dread coiling in my stomach, his words soothe me. Back in the car, I nestle against him as the driver heads east, out of the city.
