Chapter 3

When Sofie finally woke up, the sharp scent of antiseptic hit her first. A steady beeping sounded somewhere near her head.

She forced her eyes open. White ceiling greeted her first. For a second, she thought she was dead, then turned her head slightly and scanned the room.

It was empty. There was no guards, no Ronan, nobody, just silence and machines.

She tried to sit up. A brutal, ripping pain tore through her thigh and she gasped, a broken sound slipping from her lips.

“Easy.” A soft and firm voice sounded.

Her eyes snapped toward it. A young woman in scrubs hurried over, hands raised gently like Sofie was a startled animal.

“Don’t move. I’ll get the doctor,” the nurse said quietly before rushing out.

Sofie swallowed and forced herself to breathe. She looked down and noticed the IV line taped to her hand, the clear fluid dripping from the bag above. The monitor beside her blinked steadily.

She was in the hospital, that meant she survived.

Then the memories crashed in all at once. Her mother’s face when she shot her.The bullet tearing into her thigh. Ronan firing back. Her mother dropping to the floor, dead.

Sofie squeezed her eyes shut, trying to scrub the images from her brain, but they were glued there, burned in like a brand.

Then another memory surfaced. The car. Gunfire. The driver shouting they were under attack.

But she was alive, which meant they made it out. A wave of relief washed over her.

Right then and there, she made up her mind that once she walked out of this hospital, she was done. Done with the life of guns. She would quit her job, cut things off with Ronan, and leave Chicago for good.

She would rather wait tables or scrub floors for minimum wage than live one more day looking over her shoulder because of some blood feud between crime families. Fast money wasn’t worth living with a target on her back. She never signed up to be part of a war between crime syndicates.

The nurse returned with a middle-aged doctor. He checked her pulse, looked over the monitors, examined her bandaged thigh, and gave a small nod.

“Vitals are stable,” he said. “Bullet’s out. You lost a lot of blood, but you’re strong. Don’t put weight on that leg yet.”

He adjusted the IV, silenced the machine, then left without another word.

Sofie looked at the nurse. “Where am I?”

“You’re under medical care,” the woman replied calmly.

“That’s not what I meant.” Sofie’s voice was dry. “Who brought me here? I want to see Ronan.”

The nurse frowned slightly. “Who is Ronan?”

Sofie blinked. “The man who brought me in. Tall, dark hair.” Her voice hardened. “Or Betty. My friend.”

The nurse shook her head. “Boss brought you here. No Ronan.”

Sofie’s brows drew together. “Boss? What boss?”

The nurse gave her a strange look, like Sofie had said something stupid. “You need rest. You lost a lot of blood.”

Sofie swallowed. Her throat felt like sandpaper. “Water.”

The nurse quickly grabbed a bottle, opened it, and helped her drink. The cool liquid soothed her instantly.

“My head hurts,” Sofie muttered.

“Rest,” the nurse repeated, her gaze lingering a second too long.

Four days later, Sofie was discharged.

Four long days of asking for Ronan. Four days of asking for Betty. Four days of getting nothing but the same answer: Boss brought you in.

Who the hell was Boss? And why hadn’t he shown his face?

Still, when they told her she was going home, she felt relief. Maybe Ronan was laying low. Maybe this was just precaution. In their world, safe houses and private clinics were normal. Heat from a street ambush could bring the Feds sniffing around. You didn’t take chances.

As the car moved through the city, Sofie stared out the window, her thoughts tangled. The last few months replayed like a crime reel she never asked to star in.

She shut her eyes again, but the memory refused to leave. It haunted her.

After what felt like eternity to her, the car slowed, then turned into a massive iron gates which was opened ahead.

Her eyes snapped open fully, her brows furrowed.

The car rolled into a sprawling mansion she had never seen before. Heavy security patrolled.

She sat upright, eyes glued on the building. This wasn’t her apartment. And it sure as hell wasn’t Ronan’s known estate. Unless, Ronan had another property she didn’t know about.

The car stopped. The nurse stepped out first and handed Sofie a pair of crutches. Carefully and painfully, she got out and followed the woman inside.

The house was enormous with shiny floors, magficient chandelier and expensive artwork.

“Sit,” the nurse instructed, helping her onto a large leather couch.

“Thank you,” Sofie said, scanning the room again. “Where’s Ronan?”

The nurse didn’t answer. She simply walked away.

An uneasy feeling crept up Sofie's spine.

Then a deep, unfamiliar male voice broke the silence.

“There is no Ronan here.”

Sofie’s head snapped toward the sound. A man she had never seen before stepped into view, moving with slow, confident authority. He wasn’t dressed flashy, but power clung to him like cologne.

“Because of your injury, you’ll be staying in the downstairs suite,” the man said smoothly. “It’s already prepared. If you don’t like anything, we’ll redo it to your taste.”

Sofie stared at him. No Ronan? And no explanation?

“Everything you need is in this house,” he continued, gesturing casually around the massive living room. “There’s a garden in the back if you feel like getting some air. Security here is tight. Cameras, armed men, the whole package. You’re safe.”

Safe? Her pulse quickened. Safe from who?

She blinked a few times, trying to steady her thoughts. “Who are you?” she asked carefully, suspicion in every word.

“Underboss Damien,” he replied without hesitation.

Underboss. That meant there was a Capo above him.

“Ronan works for your boss?” she asked cautiously.

Damien actually snorted. “Never.” The denial was sharp and immediate.

He crouched down in front of her, bringing himself eye level. His expression held something close to amusement.

“Let’s just say,” he drawled, “Ronan pulled you out of a mess and we stepped in and took you.” A victorious smile tugged at his lips.

Sofie’s brain stalled. “You took me?” she repeated slowly.

He shrugged. “We took you.”

And then it clicked. The ambush. The hands dragging Ronan away from her. The men who carried her off.

“You kidnapped me?” she asked again, her voice thinner this time.

Damien gave another shrug.

“Who’s your boss?” she demanded.

“You’ll meet him soon,” Damien replied smoothly. “Kitchen’s fully stocked. You don’t have to lift a finger. Staff’s around. Just eat, rest, heal.”

Her lips parted. What kind of kidnapping came with house staff and a mansion?

“I’ll check on you later,” he added, nodding toward a tall guard who had just stepped into the room. “If you need anything, ask him.”

And just like that, he turned and walked away.

Sofie opened her mouth, more questions lining up in her throat, but he was already gone.

She gripped the arm of the couch, a cold chill spread through her. She was kidnapped again, but this time treated like royalty.

Meanwhile…

In a private lounge miles away, Don Hayden Blake stood near a wide glass window, Chicago’s skyline stretching behind him. His mood was dark.

In one hand, a cigarette burned between his fingers. He inhaled slowly, deeply, like the nicotine was the only thing keeping him steady. In the other, a crystal glass of whiskey caught the light. He took slow sips between drags.

“She's settled in,” Damien reported from across the room. “But she keeps asking about Ronan.”

At the name Ronan, Hayden’s jaw tightened.

“Everything’s arranged the way you requested,” Damien continued. “Downstairs room. Staff briefed. Security doubled.”

“Well done,” Hayden replied quietly.l

“So,” Damien added carefully, “you seeing her today?”

Hayden exhaled smoke slowly, then lowered himself onto the leather sofa. He stared ahead, eyes distant.

“Not yet.”

Damien nodded. “Understood.” then he turned to leave.

“I’ll see her today,” Hayden said suddenly.

Damien paused. “Today?”

Hayden nodded once. “Right away.” There was no hesitation now.

Damien studied him for a second, then gave a small nod.

Hayden crushed the cigarette into the ashtray and set the whiskey bottle down. He adjusted his jacket, making sure his pistol rested securely at his back. Old habits. A Don never moved unarmed. Not even in his own territory.

Within the hour, they arrived at the gated estate. The gates opened without question.

Men nodded respectfully as Hayden walked in. When he stepped into the living room, his eyes landed on her and something inside him shifted.

Sofie looked more matured than he remembered and had this bravery plastered on her face. He could also see those lines of worry which ran across her forehead.

She turned and their gazes locked. Her expression changed instantly. She recognized him.

“You,” she whispered.

Then her eyes widened. “You’re the man who took a bullet for me months ago,” she said, voice rising in disbelief. “It’s you.”