Chapter 2 - Blood on the Silk
By Friday evening, Evelyn’s fury had transformed into a nervous, electric energy. She had spent two days trying to find a way out of the contract, but Roman’s lawyers were terrifyingly efficient. She was trapped. But as she slipped into a dark crimson silk slip dress—the most scandalous thing she owned, chosen out of pure defiance—she had to admit that part of her didn't want to escape.
A sleek black town car arrived at exactly 6:55 PM. Sal was driving. He gave her an approving nod through the rearview mirror as she slid into the back seat. Roman was waiting for her at The Obsidian, an exclusive, underground supper club owned entirely by the Valenti syndicate. When she walked through the velvet-draped doors, every eye in the room turned toward her, but Roman’s gaze was the only one that mattered.
He was wearing a perfectly tailored black suit—one she hadn't made—and he looked like sin incarnate. He stood up from his private booth in the back, his eyes darkening as they swept over the clinging crimson silk.
“You look beautiful,” he said, his voice raw. “And angry.”
“I’m being held hostage by a mafia boss who bought my mortgage. I think I’m allowed to be a little irritable,” Evelyn shot back, sliding into the leather booth.
Roman actually smiled—a genuine, devastating smile that made her stomach flip. “Eat your steak, Evelyn. I promise, the only thing I want from you tonight is your company.”
For two hours, the mafia facade slipped away. They drank expensive Barolo wine, and Roman talked about his childhood in Sicily, the burden of his family name, and how he had built his empire not out of greed, but survival. Evelyn found herself laughing, forgetting the dangerous men flanking the exits. She found herself leaning into his space, mesmerized by the way he looked at her like she was the only person in the crowded room.
Then, the front doors of The Obsidian exploded inward.
Screams erupted as masked men armed with automatic weapons stormed the entrance. The Moretti family—Roman’s bitter rivals. The music cut off in a screech of feedback, replaced by the deafening roar of gunfire.
Instinct took over. Roman didn't hesitate. His hand shot across the table, grabbing Evelyn by the waist and dragging her to the floor behind the thick oak booth just as bullets shredded the leather where her head had been a second before.
“Stay down!” Roman roared over the chaos, pulling his weapon from his shoulder holster. His eyes, soft and warm moments ago, were now the cold, dead eyes of an executioner.
Sal materialized from the smoke, returning fire. “Boss! It’s an ambush! We need the back exit!”
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“Move her!” Roman commanded. He stood up, providing covering fire. Evelyn was terrified, her ears ringing, but Sal grabbed her arm and pulled her through the kitchen. Pots and pans clattered as bullets ricocheted off stainless steel. She looked back just in time to see Roman take down two men, but as he turned to follow them, a spray of glass from a shattered window caught him in the side, followed by a sharp, violent jerk of his body.
He had been hit.
