Chapter 4 - The Shadow at the Doorway
The subway ride felt like an eternity. Gemma sat in the corner of the rattling metal car, her arms wrapped tightly around her shivering frame, staring at her reflection in the dark glass window. Her mind was a chaotic storm of relief and absolute terror.
She had escaped the restaurant, but she was entirely untethered. Her phone battery was blinking red at five percent. She had twenty-four dollars in her purse. No coat, no winter scarf, just a silk blouse that offered zero protection against the biting November wind howling through the city streets.
When the train finally reached her stop, she climbed the stairs into the biting chill. Her apartment building was three blocks away, nestled on a quiet, dimly lit residential street lined with brownstones.
As she rounded the corner, her heart seized.
Parked directly in front of her building was Trent’s sleek black BMW.
How is he here? she thought, panic clawing at her throat. The bodyguards dragged him out the back! Did he take a cab? Did he steal a car?
Then she saw him. Trent was leaning against the hood of his car, smoking a cigarette, his face twisted in a mask of furious, unadulterated rage. He had beaten her home. The realization hit her like a physical blow — she had nowhere else to run.
She froze behind a large oak tree half a block away, her breath pluming in the cold air. If she tried to pass him to reach the front door, he would grab her. And this time, there would be no restaurant manager, no crowd of witnesses, and no mysterious mafia boss to intervene.
Suddenly, a heavy, unmarked black SUV glided silently down the street without its headlights fully blazing, pulling up right beside the curb a few yards away from Trent.
Trent turned his head, annoyed by the intrusion, flicking his cigarette onto the pavement. "Hey! Move your car, I'm waiting for someone!"
The passenger door of the SUV swung open.
Two massive men in black suits stepped out, moving with the terrifying, synchronized precision of military executioners. Before Trent could even register what was happening, one of them grabbed him by the collar of his suit jacket and slammed him hard against the hood of his own BMW, knocking the wind out of him in a violent gasp.
"What the—! Let go of me!" Trent choked out, thrashing wildly.
The second man stepped close, his voice cold and flat. "Mr. Moretti sends his regards. You were told to leave town, son. You weren't told to stop for souvenirs."
"Who the hell is Moretti?! Let me go!" Trent shrieked, his voice cracking with sheer, pathetic terror.
May you like
Without another word, the two men hoisted Trent off his feet, shoved him violently into the back seat of the SUV, slammed the doors shut, and sped off into the night, leaving the street completely silent once more.
Gemma stood frozen behind the oak tree, her mouth hanging open in sheer disbelief.
