Chapter 2 - THE BILL THAT SAVED HIS LIFE
The first shot shattered the wine bottle.
Eden heard glass explode before she understood Nico had moved.
One second he was seated.
The next his hand closed around the back of her neck and drove her down behind the horseshoe booth.
The bullet meant for his skull tore through the leather seat where his head had been.
People screamed.
Someone dropped a tray.
The restaurant became chaos.
Nico pulled a pistol from beneath his jacket with a speed that did not belong to the polite logistics executive newspapers photographed at charity dinners.
“Stay down.”
Eden did not argue.
Another shot cracked.
Then two more.
Nico fired once.
A man shouted near the bar.
Eden pressed both hands over her ears.
The smell of gunpowder replaced truffle butter.
She could hear bodies moving, chairs scraping, glass breaking.
Then Nico grabbed her wrist.
“Move.”
She looked up.
The gunman by the bar was crouched behind a marble pillar.
Vincent Gallo was nowhere.
Of course.
Coward.
Nico pulled Eden through the narrow aisle behind the booths.
A waiter lay curled beneath a table.
An elderly couple huddled against the wall.
No one seemed hit.
Yet.
“Kitchen.”
Nico pushed Eden ahead.
She ran.
Her tortured feet stopped mattering.
They reached the swinging doors just as another bullet punched through the wood beside Nico’s shoulder.
Kitchen staff screamed.
Pots crashed.
Nico shoved a stainless prep table sideways.
“Back exit.”
Eden knew it.
She also knew the back alley ended in a locked service gate after ten.
“Gate locks automatically.”
Nico glanced at her.
“Key?”
“Manager.”
“Where?”
“Dining room.”
He almost laughed.
Not humor.
The absurdity.
“Other way?”
“Wine receiving stairs.”
“Show me.”
They moved through dry storage.
Behind them, shouting.
Then a second shooter appeared at the far kitchen entrance.
Nico fired.
The man dropped behind a doorway.
Eden froze.
Nico pulled her.
“Eden.”
She moved.
The wine stairs descended to basement receiving.
Dark.
Cold.
The restaurant’s old freight tunnel connected to the neighboring hotel loading dock.
Most staff hated it.
Tonight Eden loved it.
She led him through.
“Left.”
“How do you know this?”
“I carry wine.”
“Of course.”
They reached a heavy door.
Locked.
Eden cursed.
Nico looked at hinges.
Then at her.
“Back.”
He fired once into the lock.
Metal screamed.
He kicked.
Door opened.
Hotel dock.
Rain blowing in.
A black sedan sat half a block away.
Marco.
Nico’s driver.
Except Marco stood outside the car with a gun, scanning the alley.
When he saw Nico, relief hit his face.
“Boss.”
Then his eyes moved to Eden.
“What happened?”
“Gallo.”
Marco cursed.
“Two shooters?”
“At least.”
“Car.”
Eden stopped.
Nico looked back.
“Come.”
“I can’t.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Why?”
“My manager.”
Nico stared at her.
“The staff.”
“Police will come.”
“I need to make sure nobody’s hurt.”
“You need to not get shot.”
“That too.”
Marco looked between them.
Rain soaked Eden’s white shirt.
Coffee-colored? no, not this story. Need consistent. Her uniform still white.
Nico said:
“You warned me.”
“Yes.”
“So now I am warning you.”
Eden’s jaw tightened.
“You’re not my boss.”
Marco made a small sound that might have been shock.
Nico looked at her.
Then, astonishingly, nodded.
“No.”
He holstered the gun beneath his coat.
“Fine. We go back through hotel lobby.”
“We?”
“You think I’m leaving you inside a building where Gallo’s men just tried to kill me?”
“I work there.”
“Not tonight.”
Eden opened her mouth.
Marco interrupted.
“Sir.”
He pointed down the alley.
A dark SUV turned the corner.
Fast.
No headlights.
Nico grabbed Eden and pulled her behind the sedan.
Gunfire erupted.
Marco fired back.
The SUV sped past.
Rear window shattered.
Then gone.
Silence.
Rain.
Eden’s heart pounded so hard she felt sick.
Nico looked at her.
“Still want to argue?”
“Yes.”
He almost smiled.
“Later.”
They got in.
Marco drove.
Eden sat in the back beside Nico because apparently normal life had ended when she wrote on a receipt.
She looked at him.
Blood darkened his cuff.
“You’re hit.”
He glanced down.
“Glass.”
“Let me see.”
Nico looked surprised.
“You’re giving orders now?”
“You’re bleeding on leather.”
“Concern for upholstery.”
“Exactly.”
He rolled back his sleeve.
Cut on forearm.
Not deep.
Eden took napkins from console.
Pressed them against wound.
Nico watched her hands.
They shook.
She hated that.
“You were calm in there.”
“I was busy.”
“And now?”
“Now I know what happened.”
He nodded.
“Fair.”
Marco’s phone rang through car system.
Security.
“Boss, restaurant secured. One shooter dead. Second escaped through rear.”
“Civilians?”
“Two minor injuries. No gunshot victims.”
Eden exhaled.
“Gallo?”
“Gone.”
Of course.
Nico’s voice turned cold.
“Find him.”
Eden looked out window.
Chicago blurred in rain.
She should ask to be dropped home.
She should never see Nico Ferraro again.
Instead, Marco turned toward Lake Shore Drive.
“This isn’t my apartment.”
“No.”
Nico answered.
“Where are we going?”
“Safe house.”
Eden laughed.
“No.”
He looked at her.
“You have a better location?”
“Yes. My apartment.”
“Address.”
She hesitated.
He lifted one eyebrow.
“Exactly.”
She crossed her arms.
“You don’t know where I live.”
“I can in six minutes.”
“Creepy.”
“Practical.”
“Illegal.”
“Probably.”
Marco looked like he wanted to disappear.
Nico said:
“Gallo saw you deliver the check.”
“He was in bathroom.”
“His people saw.”
“Maybe.”
“They know you warned me.”
The reality landed.
Eden’s stomach dropped.
The man at the bar had looked directly at her after Nico read the note.
He knew.
“What happens now?”
Nico’s expression changed.
Less boss.
More something else.
“You stay somewhere protected until I know who was involved.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know.”
“I have shifts.”
“No.”
“Nico.”
First name.
Accidental.
His eyes flicked.
Eden corrected:
“Mr. Ferraro.”
He looked away.
“My answer remains no.”
“I need money.”
“I’ll cover it.”
That made her angry.
“I’m not taking your money.”
“Why?”
“Because then I owe you.”
“You saved my life.”
“I don’t want that debt either.”
For the first time, Nico seemed genuinely surprised.
Most people wanted him to owe them.
Eden wanted the opposite.
He looked toward the window.
“Fine.”
“What?”
“No payment.”
“That was easy.”
“I’m learning.”
“From what?”
“You.”
That felt dangerous.
They arrived at a Gold Coast townhouse behind a private gate.
No obvious guards.
Which meant excellent guards.
Eden stepped inside.
Warm wood.
Quiet.
Not ostentatious.
Nico removed his coat.
Marco took a call in hallway.
Eden stayed near door.
“I’m not sleeping here.”
“There are six bedrooms.”
“That is not persuasive.”
Nico looked at her.
“You can have the room closest to exit.”
That was better.
She hated that he knew why.
“How long until police question me?”
“Soon.”
“Will you tell truth?”
“Yes.”
She stared.
“Really?”
“I was ambushed in public. Too many witnesses. No point pretending.”
“And the gun?”
“Licensed.”
She raised eyebrow.
He almost smiled.
“Some of us do paperwork.”
Eden thought of her brother Evan.
Illegal bets.
Collections.
Men coming to apartment when she was sixteen.
Her mother pretending not to hear.
“You’re not what people say.”
Nico’s expression cooled.
“Do not confuse manners with innocence.”
There it was.
Good.
Truth.
Eden nodded.
“I don’t.”
Marco returned.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“Gallo’s phone pinged near Union Station twenty minutes ago. Then dead.”
“Train?”
“Maybe.”
“And restaurant shooter?”
“One dead. ID: Marcus Vale.”
Nico went still.
Marco continued.
“Former Ferraro.”
Eden looked at Nico.
His face hardened.
“What does former mean?”
Marco answered for him.
“He worked for Nico’s father.”
That changed the room.
“How long ago?”
“Eight years.”
Nico said:
“He disappeared after my father died.”
Eden felt cold.
A dead father’s man.
A rival capo.
A planned hit.
This was bigger than a failed truce.
Marco added:
“There’s more.”
Of course.
“He had a Meridian employee badge.”
Eden stopped.
“What?”
“Fake.”
“Whose name?”
Marco looked at her.
“Evan Walsh.”
Her brother.
The room disappeared.
“No.”
Nico turned toward her.
“Your brother?”
“He’s dead.”
Silence.
“How long?”
“Three years.”
“How?”
“Overdose.”
She hated how easily the old lie came.
Because she never believed it.
Evan had disappeared for six days before police found him in a motel.
Needle.
No history of heroin.
Case closed.
Eden’s mother died eight months later.
Debt.
Grief.
Everything.
Marco handed her the badge.
Photo was Marcus Vale.
Name: Evan Walsh.
Employee ID active for three months.
Eden’s hands went cold.
“Why use his name?”
Nico watched her carefully.
“Maybe because it meant something to whoever planned tonight.”
Her phone rang.
Unknown.
Eden stared.
Nico said:
“Speaker.”
She almost refused.
Then answered.
A man’s voice.
Soft.
“You should have minded your tables, Eden.”
Her blood froze.
She knew that voice.
Impossible.
“Evan?”
Nico went still.
The voice laughed once.
Her brother.
Alive.
“Hi, little bird.”
Eden nearly dropped the phone.
That nickname.
Only Evan used it.
“You’re dead.”
“Not quite.”
“Where are you?”
“Somewhere safer than you.”
“You used my restaurant.”
“No.”
“Your name was on—”
“I know.”
“Did you try to kill him?”
Silence.
Nico watched.
Eden’s voice broke.
“Evan.”
“No.”
She exhaled.
Relief and terror at once.
“Then who?”
“You’re standing next to him.”
Eden looked at Nico.
Nico’s face became stone.
Evan continued:
“The hit wasn’t arranged by Gallo.”
“Then?”
“Ferraro’s own house.”
Marco cursed.
Nico did not move.
Evan said:
“And Eden?”
She swallowed.
“What?”
“Leave Nico Ferraro before midnight.”
“Why?”
“Because the man who ordered me killed three years ago is the same man who ordered him killed tonight.”
The line went dead.
Eden stared at Nico.
Nico stared back.
Then Marco’s phone buzzed.
Security alert.
The townhouse gate had opened.
May you like
Using Nico’s private access code.
Someone was already inside the property.
