DANTE'S POV
Marco Torelli begged like they all did.
"Please, I can get the money, just give me one more week—"
I pulled the trigger.
The sound echoed in the alley. Marco dropped. One less traitor in my world.
I should feel something. Anger. Satisfaction. Anything. But there was nothing. Just empty space where emotions used to live.
That's what twenty years in this life did to you. It carved out your insides until you became a walking corpse in an expensive suit.
I lowered my gun and turned to leave.
That's when I saw her.
A girl stood frozen at the diner's back door. Young. Dark hair falling loose from a bun. Eyes wide with terror.
She saw everything.
My hand tightened on the gun. Witnesses were problems. Problems needed solutions. Simple math.
But something made me pause.
She wasn't running. Wasn't screaming. Just stood there with her hand pressed to her mouth, shaking like a leaf in a storm.
Our eyes met.
Most people looked away when they saw me. Looked down. Looked anywhere but at the Ghost of Chicago.
She stared right at me.
Fear lived in those eyes. But also something else. Something that made me curious instead of pulling the trigger.
I tilted my head, studying her. Who was she? Why was she here at two in the morning?
Then her survival instincts finally kicked in. She ran.
Smart girl.
I watched her disappear around the corner. My phone buzzed. Tommy.
"Boss, police scanner just lit up. Shots fired reported two blocks away. We need to move."
"I'm already gone."
I stepped over Marco's body and walked to my car. By the time police arrived, I'd be having espresso in my study. They'd find nothing. They never did.
But I couldn't stop thinking about the girl.
---
"Tommy, I need information." I sat in my office, watching the sun rise over Chicago. I hadn't slept. Nothing new there.
"On who?" Tommy's voice crackled through the phone.
"Girl, early twenties, works at Rosie's Diner on Fifth Street. Dark hair, green eyes. Was there tonight around two AM."
Silence on the line. Then, "Boss, we got a witness problem?"
"Maybe. Or maybe an opportunity." I sipped my espresso. Four sugars, still tasted bitter. "Find out everything. Where she lives, who she loves, what keeps her up at night. I want it in an hour."
"On it."
I hung up and stared at the city below. Forty floors up, Chicago looked almost beautiful. You couldn't see the blood stains from this high.
My father used to say every person was either an asset or a threat. Nothing in between.
Which was she?
Fifty-three minutes later, Tommy walked into my office carrying a folder.
"Isabella Romano. Twenty-four. Everyone calls her Bella." He dropped the file on my desk. "Three jobs. Works herself to death trying to pay medical bills."
I opened the folder. A photo stared back at me. Same girl. But in this picture, she was smiling. It changed her whole face. Made her look younger. Happier.
When was this taken? Before her world fell apart?
"Mother has cancer," Tommy continued. "Late stage. Experimental treatment costs three hundred thousand. Bella's got one hundred and twenty-seven thousand in debt already. Working at a diner, a laundromat, and cleaning offices at night."
"Family?"
"Just the mother. Father died nine years ago. Construction accident. No siblings. No boyfriend. No friends that we can find." Tommy scratched his jaw. "Girl's a ghost herself. Works, goes home, visits her mom at the hospital. That's it."
I studied her photo. Three jobs. No life. All for a mother who was dying anyway.
"What else?"
"Here's where it gets interesting." Tommy leaned against my desk. "She dropped out of nursing school three years ago. Had a full scholarship. Top of her class. Gave it all up when mom got sick."
Smart then. Educated. Desperate.
Perfect.
"Boss, what are you thinking?" Tommy's voice held warning. "We don't need a witness becoming a problem."
"She won't be a problem." I closed the folder. "She'll be an asset."
"How do you figure?"
I stood and walked to the window. "Look at her life, Tommy. She's invisible. Works three jobs nobody notices. Waitress, cleaning lady, laundry worker. People talk around invisible women. They forget they're even there."
Understanding dawned on Tommy's face. "You want to use her."
"I need someone who can walk into rooms and disappear. Someone desperate enough to do what I ask and smart enough not to get caught." I turned back to him. "Someone who has everything to lose."
"And if she refuses?"
"She won't." I picked up my phone. "Call County General. Buy her mother's debt. All of it."
Tommy's eyes widened. "Boss—"
"Do it. Then find out what clinical trials exist for her mother's cancer. The expensive ones that actually work." I checked my watch. "I want ownership papers in my hand by dawn."
"That's in forty minutes."
"Then you better hurry."
Tommy left, shaking his head. He didn't understand. Not yet.
I looked at Bella's photo again. She was sleeping now. Safe in her tiny apartment. Maybe dreaming everything would be okay.
Tomorrow, her world would change forever.
Tomorrow, she'd become mine.
---
I stood outside her apartment door at exactly seven AM. I'd been here for an hour already, watching. Making sure she was alone. Making sure nobody would interrupt.
The debt papers sat in my jacket pocket. Signed. Legal. Binding.
I knocked.
Silence. Then movement inside. Soft footsteps. She was checking the peephole.
"Who is it?"
Her voice trembled. She already knew.
"Isabella Romano. We need to talk."
"Go away or I'm calling the police!"
I smiled even though she couldn't see it. "No, you're not."
"I saw nothing. I don't know anything. Please just leave me alone—"
"Open the door, Miss Romano. I'm not here to hurt you." I paused, letting silence build tension. "I'm here to make you an offer."
"I don't want anything from you!"
Time for the kill shot.
"Not even your mother's life?"
I heard her sharp intake of breath. Heard her world cracking apart.
"I bought your mother's hospital debt one hour ago. Every penny. Which means I own her treatment. I can make one phone call and get her into the clinical trial that could save her life. Or I can make another call and have them disconnect life support by Friday."
I waited. Counted to five.
"Your choice, Isabella. But you need to decide now. Open the door and listen to my offer, or condemn your mother to death."
More silence. She was breaking. Almost there.
"Tick tock, little bird. I don't have all morning."
The lock clicked.
The door opened.
She stood there in old pajamas, hair messy, eyes red from crying. This close, I could see she was even younger than her photo. Barely more than a girl.
But her chin lifted. Her jaw set. Even terrified, she had spine.
"What do you want from me?"
I smiled. Not the cold smile I used for enemies. Something almost real.
"Everything."