By Monday morning, Sheree had convinced herself she was overreacting.
By Monday afternoon, she knew she wasn’t.
The first sign was the black SUV.
It appeared across from St. Catherine’s while she was eating a sandwich near the staff entrance.
Sheree noticed it because the driver never got out.
At 2:17, it moved.
At 5:40, when her shift ended, it appeared again half a block from the employee garage.
She stopped walking.
The SUV stopped too.
“Oh, absolutely not.”
Sheree turned back toward the hospital.
A voice behind her said, “Ms. Murphy?”
She spun.
A man in a charcoal coat stood several feet away.
Forties.
Calm face.
Empty hands.
“Who are you?”
“Dominic Russo.”
“That means nothing to me.”
“I work for Mr. Santoro.”
That meant plenty.
Sheree looked toward the SUV.
Dominic followed her gaze.
“They’re ours.”
“Wonderful. That definitely makes stalking less creepy.”
“We’re protecting you.”
“From what?”
He hesitated.
Wrong answer.
“From what?” she repeated.
“We’re determining that.”
Sheree stared at him.
“Tell your employer I do not want protection.”
“I’m afraid that isn’t advisable.”
“I wasn't asking for advice.”
Dominic almost smiled.
Then Sheree stepped closer.
“And tell him I have his money.”
“Keep it.”
“No.”
“He expected you might say that.”
“Then he’s smarter than he looked while unconscious.”
“He also expected that sentence.”
That annoyed her.
“Take me to him.”
Dominic’s expression changed.
“Ms. Murphy—”
“You’re following me. Men are sitting outside my job. I discovered the bleeding stranger I dragged home is apparently Chicago’s answer to organized crime, and nobody will tell me why I need protection.”
She pointed toward the SUV.
“So either take me to him or I walk into the nearest police station carrying twenty thousand dollars and a phone number.”
Dominic sighed.
“He said you were difficult.”
“Did he?”
“He sounded impressed.”
Twenty-five minutes later, Sheree was driven into the underground garage of a building overlooking the river.
She expected some dark criminal hideout.
Instead she entered a polished office tower filled with marble, glass, and people wearing business suits.
Luca Santoro’s legitimate empire occupied four floors.
Apparently crime came with excellent interior designers.
When Sheree entered his office, Luca was standing by the window.
He wore a dark sweater beneath his jacket.
For a moment she saw the wounded man again.
Then he turned.
The weakness disappeared.
“You should not be working.”
Sheree blinked.
“Excuse me?”
“You were awake almost all night.”
“You're concerned about my sleep?”
“I am.”
“You were stabbed.”
“Yes.”
“You disappeared without telling me.”
“Yes.”
“You left twenty thousand dollars beside my coffee maker.”
“Twenty-five.”
“That is not better.”
Luca almost smiled.
“You saved my life.”
“I performed medical care.”
“That saved my life.”
“I didn't do it for money.”
“I know.”
Something about the way he said it quieted her.
Sheree placed the cream card on his desk.
“What is happening?”
Luca’s expression hardened.
“The men who attacked me knew information they should not have known.”
“So?”
“So whoever arranged it may discover where I went after.”
Her stomach tightened.
“My apartment.”
“Yes.”
“You think whoever tried to kill you might come after me?”
“I think they might believe I told you something.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Then tell them that.”
Luca looked at her for a long moment.
“You believe violent men always act rationally?”
Sheree had no answer.
He moved closer.
“You became involved the moment you stopped in that alley.”
“I became involved because you were dying.”
“And now I intend to ensure you do not suffer for it.”
She folded her arms.
“By having strangers follow me?”
“By making certain nobody reaches you.”
“That sounds remarkably similar.”
“It is.”
Despite herself, she laughed once.
Luca looked almost surprised.
“You’re impossible.”
“I have been called worse.”
“I’m sure.”
His eyes dropped to the bruise forming around her wrist from where he had grabbed her.
His jaw tightened.
“I did that.”
“You were delirious.”
“I still did it.”
“It will heal.”
He touched nothing.
He simply stared at the bruise.
“I’m sorry.”
Sheree hadn't expected that.
The most feared man in Chicago, according to half the internet, apologized quietly enough that only she could hear.
She studied him.
“Who attacked you?”
“I don't know.”
“You have guesses.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And you do not need them.”
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The ordering.”
Luca’s eyebrow lifted.
“You ordered me around while stitching my side.”
“I had medical authority.”
“You threatened to abandon me.”
“You were strangling my wrist.”
“I loosened my grip.”
“After I threatened you.”
His mouth shifted.
It was dangerously close to amusement.
For several seconds neither spoke.
Then Luca said, “Your brother was Marcus Murphy.”
Sheree froze.
Every trace of humor disappeared.
“What?”
“He died ten years ago.”
“How do you know that?”
“I had my people check your background.”
“You investigated me?”
“To determine whether you were involved in what happened.”
Anger moved through her so quickly her hands trembled.
“You don't get to do that.”
“I needed to know who you were.”
“I’m the woman who saved you.”
“Exactly.”
That answer stopped her.
Luca turned toward the window.
“When someone helps a man like me without asking for anything, I need to understand why.”
Sheree swallowed.
“Marcus is why.”
“I know.”
“No. You know his name. You don't know why.”
She stepped closer.
“People left him bleeding because they were scared. I promised myself I would never be that person.”
Luca said nothing.
“That's all this was.”
His expression softened almost invisibly.
“I believe you.”
“Good.”
Sheree picked up the card.
“Then call off your men.”
“No.”
Her mouth fell open.
“No?”
“No.”
“You just said you believe me.”
“I do.”
“Then why—”
“Because someone watched your building last night.”
Silence.
Sheree felt the room change.
“What?”
“Silver sedan. Fake plates.”
“How long?”
“Twenty-three minutes.”
Her stomach dropped.
“Did they go inside?”
“No.”
“Because your men were there?”
“Possibly.”
Sheree walked to a chair and sat.
For the first time, Luca did not look like a criminal she had accidentally saved.
He looked like a storm she had stepped into.
“Who were they?”
“We’re finding out.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Temporarily, you stay somewhere secure.”
She immediately shook her head.
“No.”
“Sheree.”
“No. I have work.”
“We can arrange leave.”
“I need the paycheck.”
“I can replace—”
“If you say money, I’m leaving.”
Luca stopped.
Sheree stood.
“My life does not become yours because I helped you.”
His eyes held hers.
“No.”
“Then stop acting like it.”
Something flickered across his face.
Respect, perhaps.
“Fine.”
She blinked.
“Fine?”
“You continue working.”
“With no army?”
“With a smaller army.”
“Luca.”
It was the first time she had used his name.
He went still.
Sheree noticed.
So did Dominic, standing near the door.
“Two people,” Luca said.
“One.”
“Two.”
“One.”
“Two, and they stay invisible.”
She exhaled.
“You negotiate everything?”
“Yes.”
“That must make relationships fun.”
“I wouldn't know.”
Something in the answer felt heavier than expected.
She ignored it.
“Two. No entering my apartment.”
“Agreed.”
“No talking to coworkers.”
“Agreed.”
“No investigating my friends.”
Luca hesitated.
“Luca.”
“Agreed.”
Sheree grabbed her coat.
At the door she turned.
“And I’m returning the money.”
“Keep it.”
“No.”
“Buy groceries.”
She glared.
“I have groceries.”
“Your refrigerator contained mustard, half a lemon, and yogurt.”
Her eyes widened.
“You looked in my refrigerator?”
“I needed water.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
She left.
Luca watched the closed door.
Dominic waited several seconds.
“You smiled.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You did.”
“Find the silver sedan.”
Dominic wisely changed subjects.
That evening, Sheree returned home.
Nothing appeared disturbed.
She locked the door twice.
Checked every window.
Then she noticed something on her kitchen table.
A photograph.
Marcus.
Sheree’s breath stopped.
It was an old picture from his college graduation.
She kept it inside a drawer in her bedroom.
Someone had taken it out.
On the back, written in black ink, were five words.
You should have kept walking.
Sheree stood completely still.
Then she reached for the cream-colored card.
This time, she called.
Luca answered before the second ring.
“Sheree?”
She had intended to sound calm.
She didn’t.
“Someone was inside my apartment.”
There was silence.
Then Luca’s voice changed into something frighteningly controlled.
“Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
“Lock yourself in the bathroom.”
“Luca—”
“Now.”
She heard movement on his end.
Doors opening.
Men shouting.
“I'm coming.”
The line went dead.
Across Chicago, the order spread again.
Only this time it was different.
Someone had ignored Luca Santoro’s warning.
And by touching Sheree’s life, they had made themselves his highest priority.
---