PART 2: The Blood Trail
“Why did I save you?” I repeated, staring at the most terrifying man in San Francisco as he sat on my cheap living room rug, clutching his side. “Because scrubbing blood out of beige carpeting is a nightmare, and my security deposit is already hanging by a thread. Plus, I took an oath in nursing school. Even if I didn't graduate, I don't let people die on my floor.”
Roman Bianchi did not laugh. His dark, fathomless eyes studied my face with an intensity that made the air in the small apartment feel heavy.
“You could have walked away,” he said, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. “Anyone else in this city would have stepped over my body and bolted the door. Why didn't you?”
“Maybe I’m an idiot,” I shot back, taking a sip of my lukewarm coffee. “Now answer my question. Why did you come here? You have penthouses, private doctors, and an army of men in tailored suits who would take a bullet for you. Why stumble to a rundown apartment building in the Mission District?”
Roman leaned back slightly against my sofa, wincing as the movement pulled at his freshly stitched skin. “Because the man who put this knife in my ribs is the same man who runs my army.”
The coffee mug halted halfway to my mouth. A cold knot formed in my stomach. “Who?”
“Silas,” Roman said quietly, the name dripping with absolute venom. “My underboss. The man I grew up with. He waited until my security detail was rotated, isolated me in the alley behind the Montgomery club, and shoved six inches of steel into my liver. He thought I was dead. I managed to break his jaw and lose him in the gridlock on 4th Street.”
I stared at him, horror creeping up my spine. “If your second-in-command betrayed you, that means your entire organization—”
“Is currently hunting me,” Roman finished smoothly. “They are watching the hospitals. They are watching my safe houses. They are watching the private clinics. I needed a door that didn't exist on their maps. I needed someone who owed me nothing, who couldn't be bought, and who knew how to stop arterial bleeding.” He looked up at me, his gaze softening just a fraction. “I remembered your hands, Nora. When you spilled that drink on me three months ago, your hands were steady. You were terrified, but you didn't break.”
Before I could process the terrifying compliment, a sound shattered the quiet morning.
Heavy, deliberate footsteps echoed in the hallway outside my door.
Roman’s demeanor shifted instantly. The injured, exhausted man vanished, replaced by a lethal predator. He ignored the agonizing pain in his side, rolling to his feet with terrifying silence. He drew a sleek, black Glock from the waistband of his ruined trousers—a weapon I hadn't realized he was still carrying.
“Get away from the door,” Roman ordered in a harsh whisper, leveling the barrel at the cheap wooden frame.
I backed up into the kitchen, grabbing the heaviest cast-iron skillet I owned, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
Knock. Knock.
“Nora?” a voice called out. “It’s Mr. Henderson. Your rent is three days late. Open up.”
I exhaled a breath I didn't know I was holding, dropping the skillet onto the counter with a loud clatter. I looked at Roman, my knees shaking. “It’s just my landlord.”
Roman didn't lower the gun. He moved to the peephole, his broad shoulders tense. After a long, agonizing second, he lowered the weapon and turned to me.
“He’s alone,” Roman muttered, checking his watch. “But Silas is thorough. If he is tracking the blood trail I left on the pavement, or if he pulls the city’s traffic cameras, it is only a matter of time before he narrows my location down to this block. You need to pack a bag.”
“Pack a bag?” I hissed, keeping my voice low. “I am not going anywhere with you. You’re going to slip out the fire escape, and I am going to buy industrial bleach to clean this floor.”
Roman closed the distance between us in three long strides. He stood towering over me, his massive frame boxing me in against the kitchen counter. He smelled of copper, expensive cologne, and danger.
“Listen to me very carefully, Nora,” he said, his voice a dark, hypnotic command. “Silas is a butcher. When he finds out you helped me, he will not just kill you. He will make an example of you. You are part of this now. As long as you are breathing, you are a target. The only way you survive the next twenty-four hours is if you are standing behind me.”
I wanted to argue. I wanted to tell him to get out and leave me to my miserable, debt-ridden life. But I looked into his eyes—eyes that had seen the darkest parts of the world—and I knew he was telling the truth.
“Ten minutes,” I whispered, pushing past him.
I ran to my bedroom, grabbing a duffel bag and shoving in jeans, sweaters, and every piece of medical equipment I owned. When I returned to the living room, Roman was on his phone, speaking rapidly in Italian.
“We have a ride,” he said, cutting the call.
We slipped out the back window, descending the rusted fire escape into the damp San Francisco fog. An unmarked, armored black SUV was idling in the alleyway. The driver, a massive man with a scarred neck, stepped out and opened the door.
May you like
“Leo is loyal,” Roman said as he ushered me into the back seat, wincing as he slid in beside me. “He’s the only one I trust.”
As the SUV pulled away from my apartment, I looked out the tinted window, watching my entire life disappear in the rearview mirror. I had saved a monster from bleeding to death, and now, I was locked inside his cage.
