Ellie's POV
Crunch.
The SUV jolted violently forward as the car behind them smashed into their bumper again. Ellie's head snapped back, then forward. A scream died in her throat. This wasn't a movie. The sound of tearing metal was real. The smell of fear in the closed car was real.
"Hold on!" Marco, the driver, barked. His knuckles were white on the wheel.
He didn't slam the brakes. He stomped on the gas. The SUV surged ahead, engine screaming. Ellie was pressed into the leather seat, her heart hammering against her ribs. She gripped the door handle, but it was just smooth plastic. No way out.
In the front, Nicholas was a statue. He glanced in the side mirror, his face calm. Too calm. "Take the next left. Go through the market."
"The market?" Marco's voice was tense.
"Now."
Marco yanked the wheel. The SUV skidded, tires screeching in protest, and plunged down a narrow side street. The car chasing them followed, its headlights flooding their interior for a blinding second.
The street was lined with metal garbage bins and parked delivery trucks. It was a canyon, too tight.
"They're gonna pin us!" Ellie yelled, the words bursting out.
Marco didn't answer. He sped up. The car behind gained, its grille filling the back window. Just as it was about to hit them again, Marco slammed the brakes and cranked the wheel hard right.
The world spun. Ellie was thrown against the door, then against the stone-faced man beside her. The SUV did a sickening, sliding 180-degree turn, screeching to a stop facing the way they came. The pursuing car, going way too fast, shot past them in a blur of noise and light.
Before Ellie could breathe, Marco slammed the gearshift and roared back down the alley the way they'd come. He took a sharp left, then a right, driving with a furious, precise aggression. After two minutes of silent, breakneck turns, he slowed down. He pulled into the loading dock of a huge, dark department store, killing the lights.
They sat in the dark, engine idling. No one spoke. Ellie listened, her ears straining over the sound of her own ragged breaths. No sirens. No screeching tires. Just the distant hum of the city.
After a full minute, Nicholas spoke. "Clear."
Marco nodded and pulled back onto the street, now driving like any normal, if impatient, person.
The rest of the drive was a blur of quiet tension. No one talked to her. Nicholas made two more phone calls in Italian, his voice low. Ellie just stared out the window, watching normal people walk normal dogs, living normal lives that were now a universe away from her.
The SUV eventually slid into a private, underground garage beneath a towering glass building. The gate closed silently behind them. The elevator they walked to was mirrored and cold. It opened directly into a living room.
Ellie's mouth fell open. The room was all windows, showing a breathtaking, dizzying view of the glittering city. It was huge, sleek, and empty. Everything was shades of gray and white. It looked like a fancy magazine photo, not a place where people lived. It felt colder than the alley.
"This is where you'll stay," Nicholas said, walking to a minimal kitchen and pouring himself a glass of water. He drank it like it was whiskey.
Marco stood by the elevator, his arms crossed. A silent, watchful guardian. Or a jailer.
Ellie's voice felt small. "For how long?"
"Until it's safe."
"And when will that be?"
He put the glass down. The click it made on the marble counter was final. "When I say it is."
He walked down a hallway without another word, disappearing into a room. Marco gestured with his head. "Your room is this way, Miss Wells."
He led her to a doorway. The room inside was bigger than her entire apartment. A giant bed with a plush gray comforter. A bathroom with a shower that had a dozen nozzles. A closet empty except for a fluffy white robe. It was a cage, but the bars were made of money and marble.
Marco pointed to a panel by the door. It had a button. "This is for security. It connects to my room next door and Mr. Pellagrini's down the hall. Press it only if there is an immediate threat." His eyes were flat. "Do not try to leave. The doors and windows are secured."
"Secured how?"
"Secured," he repeated. He left, pulling the door shut behind him.
Ellie stood in the middle of the silent, perfect room. The lock on the door turned with a heavy, metallic thunk.
She was a prisoner in a five-star jail.
For a while, she just stood there, shaking. The adrenaline was gone, leaving her hollow and cold. She thought about the bomb, the fire, the chase. It replayed in her head on a loop. She saw the blinking red light. She heard the click.
Finally, she moved. She went to the window. The view was incredible. She could see all of Manhattan spread out like a toy city. She placed her palms on the cold glass. There was no latch. No way to open it. It was just a giant, beautiful TV screen showing a world she couldn't touch.
Hours later, thirst drove her out. She crept into the dark living room, guided by the city lights. The kitchen was a chef's dream huge stove, a fancy fridge, and every tool imaginable. It was a mockery of her own dream. She found a glass and filled it with water from a tap that probably served diamond liquid.
As she drank, she heard voices. Muffled, coming from behind a partially closed door down another hallway. An office.
One voice was Nicholas's, tired and firm. The other was a woman's, smooth and cold as ice.
Curiosity, that stupid human instinct, pulled her forward. She moved silently, barefoot on the cool floor, stopping just out of sight.
"…a complication, Nico," the woman was saying. "A loose end that's currently wandering your penthouse."
"She's not a loose end, Sophia. She saved my life."
"And now she's a liability." The woman's voice was logical, sharp. "She's a waitress. She has no training, no spine. The Costas will find her. And when they do, she'll fold. She'll tell them everything she saw, everything about you, to save her own skin. She's a crack waiting to happen."
Ellie's blood turned to ice in her veins. A liability. A crack.
"I'm handling it," Nicholas said, a clear warning in his tone.
The woman, Sophia, laughed softly. It was a sound without any warmth. "Your sentiment is a weakness. That girl is a problem. And in our business, problems need to be… removed."
Ellie stumbled back from the door, her hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp. Removed. She wasn't safe here. The greatest threat might not be outside these walls. It might be in the room next door, talking in a cold, smooth voice. She fled back to her bedroom, locking herself in the bathroom as if the flimsy lock could save her. In the morning, a gentle knock sounded. A maid she hadn't seen before offered a small smile and handed her a beautiful, robin's-egg blue box, tied with a silver ribbon. "For you, miss." With trembling fingers, Ellie pulled the ribbon. Inside, nestled on a bed of black velvet, was a single, perfectly dead black rose. The card, in elegant, looping script, read: No good deed goes unpunished.