Chapter 2
I forgot the gun.
I forgot the chair.
I forgot every rule that kept people alive in my house.
“Emma.”
She did not move.
Her breathing was shallow.
Wrong.
I grabbed the emergency button near my bed and slammed it with my fist.
Within seconds, the hallway filled with running feet.
Luke came first, weapon drawn.
Then two guards.
Then Marta, my night nurse, the fourth one that month and the only one stubborn enough to remain employed.
Luke stopped at the doorway.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know.”
My voice sounded strange.
Too raw.
Marta rushed to Emma.
“She’s burning up.”
Emma’s eyes fluttered.
“No hospital,” she whispered.
Marta looked at me.
“She needs one.”
Emma grabbed my wrist with surprising strength.
“Please.”
Her fingers were cold.
I had heard men beg before.
Usually for money.
For mercy.
For time.
Emma was begging not to be returned to something.
That was different.
I looked at Luke.
“Private doctor. Now.”
Marta cut open Emma’s sleeve.
The blood came from a long scrape along her arm.
Not deep.
But beneath it were bruises.
Old and new.
Finger marks.
A dark yellow bruise near her ribs.
My bedroom went silent.
Luke’s face hardened.
“Who did that?”
Emma turned her face into the pillow.
“No one.”
I laughed once.
It was not a kind sound.
“No one has busy hands.”
She shut her eyes.
The doctor arrived in twenty minutes.
Dr. Russo had stitched bullets out of men who could not go to hospitals.
He looked at Emma and became very quiet.
Dehydrated.
Exhausted.
Fever.
Bruised ribs.
Possible kidney infection.
No immediate fracture.
Immediate.
I hated that word.
It made survival sound generous.
While Marta treated Emma, I picked up the note from the floor.
The handwriting shook.
Mr. Moretti,
I am sorry for entering your room.
I did not know where else to go.
If I disappear, please tell my mother I kept trying.
Her name is Rose Carter.
She is at Lakeview Memory Care.
Do not trust my stepfather.
Do not trust the debt collector named Vance.
Do not trust the woman who calls herself my aunt.
My hand tightened around the paper.
Luke read over my shoulder.
“Vance?”
“You know him?”
“Vance Kellan. Runs collections for the Bellaro crew.”
Bellaro.
The name put ice in my blood.
The family that had sent the sniper two years ago.
The bullet that took my legs came from Bellaro money.
Now one of their collectors had his hands on my maid.
Emma woke near dawn.
I sat in my chair beside the bed.
My bed.
She looked horrified when she realized where she was.
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing.”
She tried to sit.
Pain folded her.
Marta stopped her.
“You’re not going anywhere.”
Emma looked at me.
“I need to work.”
“No.”
“I need the money.”
“No.”
Her eyes filled.
“You don’t understand.”
“Then explain.”
She swallowed.
“If I miss payment, they move my mother.”
“Who?”
Her lips trembled.
“My stepfather sold her care debt to Vance. He said if I don’t pay, she goes to a state facility where no one will know her name.”
Luke cursed under his breath.
I looked at Emma.
“How much?”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“How much?”
“Forty-eight thousand.”
I almost laughed.
Not because it was small.
Because men had died in my world for less.
“Who hit you?”
She looked away.
I leaned forward.
“Emma.”
Her voice broke.
“Vance’s men. They said pain makes people punctual.”
Something old and violent woke inside me.
May you like
The part of me everyone feared.
This time, it had a reason.
