Chapter 3 - The Safehouse and the Stalking Shadow
I walked briskly toward the brightly lit commercial avenue, my heels clicking sharply against the damp pavement. I didn't care where I was going as long as it was away from Silas Carbone, away from the blood in the alley, and away from the ghost of the life I thought we were building.
Silas followed me step-for-step, maintaining a respectful distance of three paces, his hand still wrapped loosely around his bruised wrist where I had bitten him.
I made it half a block down 4th Street before his encrypted satellite phone suddenly buzzed violently in his coat pocket.
Silas stopped walking.
I stopped too, turning around with a glare. “What now? Did another secret relative drop out of the woodwork?”
He pulled the phone out, his eyes scanning the encrypted data stream lighting up the OLED screen. He turned the device slightly so I could see it.
It was a high-resolution surveillance photograph taken from across the street. The image showed me walking out of the service alley less than two minutes earlier, looking vulnerable and exposed under the amber streetlights.
Beneath the photograph, a brief, ominous text message blinked in bold white letters:
Find the other woman.
A cold shiver raced down my spine. I looked up instinctively toward the dark, arched windows of the buildings towering above us on both sides of the street. Every single parked sedan, every idling taxi, and every shadowed doorway suddenly felt occupied by invisible, watching eyes.
“Your legal wife gets a name, police protection, and a hospital suite,” I said, my voice dangerously steady. “I get categorized as ‘the other woman’—a target painted on my back for every rival syndicate in the city to shoot at.”
Silas said nothing. He didn't deny it. His silence was a damning confession.
“There is a boutique hotel two blocks away on Madison,” Silas said quietly, his tone brokering zero argument. “I own the entire top-floor penthouse suite. The security system is tied directly into my private grid. You will stay locked inside there until daylight. Then—and only then—you decide what happens next between us.”
I scoffed, crossing my arms defensively over my chest. “I decide?”
“Yes.”
“Fine. Separate rooms.”
“Yes.”
“And you don't touch me.”
His jaw clenched so tightly a muscle ticked violently in his cheek. He stared at me with those burning storm-gray eyes.
“Unless keeping you alive requires physical intervention,” he corrected grimly.
“No,” I shot back, stepping closer to him. “You ask permission first.”
May you like
Silas looked down at me, the harsh neon lights reflecting off his dark hair. A heavy, complicated sigh escaped his lips.
“I ask.”
